Gravity
by spindrifting
Summary: Donatello finds that curiosity can have serious backlash when his academic interest in the behaviors of one human girl starts a chain of events that he may not be able to come back from.
1. Perhaps

"There you are."

Donatello leaned forward, staring at the computer monitor intently. On the screen was a grainy, black-and-white image of a store front plastered with signs announcing sales on soda and aspirin. He clicked around on his spiffy new keyboard and mentally thanked April for finding custom electronics made for sumo wrestlers. Having three giant fingers was tough on the tiny squares that made up the keys of standard electronics. And with technology moving ever-toward more streamlined and compact sizes, the awkwardness of typing only got worse. He didn't know how many times he'd wanted to throw a monitor through the wall when he'd accidentally hit 'Esc' instead of '1' in the middle of a line of code.

In the middle of his musings, the Beekman Street Health Clinic came into focus on the screen. It was a tiny pharmacy and walk-in medical center, set against the backdrop of pubs and parking garages - the kind of mom-and-pop-style business that made New York City famous as the thriving home of opportunity for anyone. It was open 24 hours a day to accommodate patients from every walk of life which, while noble, had made it particularly difficult for Donnie to hot wire the indoor/outdoor surveillance system some months before.

Originally, it had been done because he and his brothers had reason to believe that the clinic was a front for the smuggling of biomedical supplies to the Foot. And while it seemed a popular haunt for known informants to the Foot, as well as some other notable gangsters for the area, nothing particularly suspicious ever happened there. As strung out as they already were, they couldn't afford to waste time and attention on a criminal dead zone. So it was that the Clinic just became another cycling image in a corner screen rotation of Donnie's massive spy system.

That is, until they hired their newest overnight technician in the pharmacy.

Donatello had just finished his sixth cup of coffee for the evening and was getting ready to brew another pot. Before leaving his laboratory, he'd glanced at the monitor as it flipped to the 15-second watch of the clinic. Standing outside the main door was a young woman - probably in her very early 20's - chatting with the gangly store owner. While she was pretty enough in profile with her neat dark shirt and slacks and long, waving hair, it wasn't until she turned her attention toward the camera that he felt the barest wave of nausea come over him.

It was a strange sensation - somewhere between the backlash of Mikey's "Sewer Surprise" and the first time that Master Splinter asked him to demonstrate a back flip. He stared into the dregs of the coffee cup and calculated the toxic dose of caffeine based on his BMI and the fact that he was a reptile, and quickly dismissed that as the cause. Shaking his head, he looked back at the screen and met gray-toned eyes as another wave of nausea came over him.

She had the biggest, most radiant smile he'd ever seen on a person. It was oddly infectious and he had the fleeting thought that if the image were broadcasted on Channel 6, it might become endemic. The girl turned away again and started talking to the store owner, who laughed silently, as if sharing some secret joke. The screen flickered away and the queasiness passed. Don shook his head once, hard enough for the tails of his mask to smack his nose, and turned toward the entry of his lab.

Mikey and Raph were bickering in the kitchen about only-God-knows-what. Donatello caught the barest undertones of a threat as he slid past them, around the open door of the refrigerator, and straight to the coffee pot.

He watched the dark liquid trickle into the carafe, stained brown on the bottom from years of abuse, and let his mind drift to the sound of the percolator. Most of the people that the brothers encountered on the streets were either too focused on their destination to express much emotion, or they were in distress. And while they'd seen plenty of movies with people smiling and laughing, it had always seemed to Donnie that it was a practiced sort of laughter. Nothing of the sort to send a thrill of excitement through the veins.

Even with April, there was a laid-back kind of acceptance that came from their shared history and mutual reliance. To her, they were as brothers and nothing more intimate was expected to come of it. The family of mutants were a singular population among their species, and therefore lacked the opportunities given to other creatures to find companionship. As they grew up, going through the awkwardly hormonal phases of adolescence and into their young adulthood, they'd been bombarded with images of human women on television, in ads and movies, in magazines and on the Internet. Curiosities had been piqued, as they would be with any young, healthy males, and any fantasies they had typically included human women.

And while Donatello had approached the idea of human companionship with the same kind of scientific analysis that he did most aspects of his life, he'd never harbored any real hope that he could find "the one," as Mikey always called it. Yes, anatomically speaking, it could happen _physically. _But the likelihood of inspiring the emotions necessary to execute those kinds of behaviors were about the same as the probability of Leo being able to use a kitchen appliance without breaking it.

That is, not at all.

Donnie wandered back into the lab and, sliding into the rickety desk chair, wondered absently if they made furniture specifically for sumo wrestlers as well. Not that he didn't appreciate Raph's craftsmanship and exceptional salvage-work. But there was only so much that could be done with a desk chair that was missing a wheel and had a back made of pizza boxes. He started clicking away where he'd left off on his newest line of code - part of a program that was sure to break down the firewalls of an organization that they suspected to be funding the training for new members of the Purple Dragons. He hadn't gotten very far, though, when the interior camera for the Beekman Street Health Clinic clicked into view in the corner of his vision.

It was the camera behind the front register. The same girl was standing on the opposite side of the desk, leaned over what looked like a pile of paperwork. She had an intense look of concentration, as if analyzing the fine print of the documents before her was critical to her livelihood.

_Given that it appears to be hiring paperwork, it may well be_, he contemplated absently.

Donnie couldn't help but admire that there seemed to be an intrinsic sense of intelligence about her. The young clerk, a boy that he knew came to work after his GED classes, said something that caused the corner of her mouth to quirk. She looked up and responded with a raised eyebrow and a mute query. The clerk only shrugged, shoulders shaking with laughter. The girl stood straight, flipped her hair over her shoulder in an almost defiant manner, and stuck her tongue out at the camera. It clicked back to the outdoor camera and the moment was gone.

Despite himself, Donnie had a hard time returning to his work. What were they talking about? What was so funny that made both the clerk and the owner laugh? Why on Earth would she blow a raspberry at a security camera that, for all they knew, was hooked up to closed-circuit television and would never be seen by another human soul? What was the point? He'd readily admit that they were rather unimportant questions. Random girl in a random building doing random things.

_Why does it matter?_

He waited. It took eight minutes and 45 seconds, but when it clicked back around, he wasn't disappointed. In fifteen-second snippets, he watched her walk around the store with the owner, disappear into the back pharmacy, and come forward again. She had the oddest mannerisms - bending down, picking things up, and smiling as if discovering the world for the first time. She just never stopped _smiling_. And in the back of his mind, Mikey's voice began to chime in.

"...and man, when your eyes meet, you'll get all tingly from your bald head to the tips of your turtle toes. And that's how you know, man. It'll be love at first sight. Just watch..."

He chuckled at the turn of his thoughts. He didn't have a single tingle, just a vague sense of queasiness that likely came from too much coffee on an empty stomach. It wasn't even close to what he'd read about the feelings of love. There was no weakness or excitement, no desire to be close to her, or to know every little detail of her life and dreams, no lingering fantasy of perfection.

But there was curiosity.

And when she stood at the door of the pharmacy and looked again at the security camera, he suddenly began to wonder. April was a singular case, with emotional bias towards acceptance of the turtles. She couldn't _really_ be considered a reliable subject on which to base the reaction of a standard human female upon encountering their group. Proper scientific process required an analysis of different variables; a study of behavior prior to meeting as well as afterwards. There needed to be a baseline for comparison. The subject of study had to be random. And most importantly, to draw any kind of conclusion, there had to be repetition.

As the young woman hitched the corners of her mouth up a little higher, an odd, muted fuzz invaded Donnie's brain. It felt as if she was smiling directly at him. He thought, _Perhaps..._

Perhaps she could be an interesting subject of study. She was unknown, had no history with the Turtles, and she could be observed from afar to set a standard of behavior. She was located in an area with a high potential for Foot traffic, and was therefore a good candidate for future meetings.

_Perhaps..._

Then Mikey barged into his lab, demanding that he fix the microwave and jarring him from the moment. He jumped, Mikey laughed, and when Donnie looked back at the screen, the 15 seconds had passed again, and the screen was filled with an image of a broken-down warehouse by the docks.

"Dude, get your head out of the tech! We need pizza and like ASAP!"

Donnie just looked at him and nodded dumbly. His orange-masked brother suddenly gave him a quizzical look.

"You okay, bro?"

Realizing that he must look like a complete headcase, he snapped his mouth shut and shook his head.

"Yeah. Yeah, Mikey, I'm fine. I'll be out in just a sec to fix the toaster."

"Microwave."

"Yeah, that's what I said."

Michelangelo just shrugged and without further ado, turned on his heel, disappearing through the porthole just as loudly as he'd come.

That was when Donatello made one of his very rare impulsive decisions.

He pulled up the coding index for the city's surveillance system and transferred the cameras for the Beekman Street Health Clinic from the corner rotation to a permanent side screen. Then he turned from his chair and left the lab before he could think critically about the sudden feeling that he'd just done something incredibly stupid.

* * *

He watched her with the kind of interest that he would give to studying a newly salvaged motherboard or the ever-changing street maps of topside New York. Donnie wanted to learn about her, to understand her, and to move on to the next project. What he found, however, is that she was completely unpredictable.

Her first day in, she'd had the night pharmacist, Phil, a man characterized by a jaw so fat that it wobbled every time he frowned - which seemed to be all the time - crying with laughter. This made the technophile both incredibly amused - as it turns out, every part of Phil wobbled when he laughed - and unequivocally agitated that he hadn't thought to install a microphone when he'd rewired the security system.

The first week in, she'd gotten to know many of the regulars, and seemed to have a teasingly sassy attitude that had even the grumpiest old curmudgeons cracking a smile. When she got really involved in telling a story, she had a tendency to knock over plastic bins and pill bottles. The alarmed, and then abashed look she'd get on her face would always set Donnie to chuckling. Eventually, he just got into the habit of flipping on a side monitor on the nights that she worked and setting to work on whatever project had his attention, with her as an entertaining background.

It was on one of these nights that he flipped on the monitor just in time to catch her strolling up the street. Bundled up against the early-autumn chill, she looked up at the camera and poked her tongue out before entering, just as she did every night.

He quirked a smile and mumbled to himself, "There you are."

She tossed her loosely braided hair over her shoulder as she shrugged off her coat, hanging it on the drip rack by the door. Donnie wondered idly whether her hair was black or brown. Watching her was much like watching an old black-and-white film. No color, no sound. Shell, he didn't even know what the girl's name was and he'd been watching her like a total voyeur for weeks.

He didn't tell his brothers about his observations. Leo would just tell him it was a waste of resources for something as silly as a girl that he would never speak to in-person. Raph would find every opportunity to make him feel like a complete creep and Mikey would probably tease him mercilessly about liking her or something equally ridiculous. It wasn't like any of them would care that his interest was purely academic. He didn't even want to imagine how Master Splinter's might perceive his actions.

Donatello grimaced and turned his attention back to the master cylinder he was trying to repair for the Shellraiser. Raph had been bugging him for days about trying to fix the brake system in the mostly scavenged vehicle. And when Donnie didn't finish a project quick enough for Raph's liking, the bigger terrapin had a tendency to take out any impatience on him in the dojo.

It wasn't until about 1 am that Donnie finally had the part back in working order. Raph was out on patrol, so he'd have to wait a few hours yet to know if it would be good enough to keep the Shellraiser running. At least until they could salvage a newer one. Finding himself without anything pressing to do, he decided to peruse the surveillance screens for signs of trouble in the city. What he saw made his stomach drop to his feet.

A squadron of Foot were moving up Beekman Street, tucked into the shadows like knives into a sheath. He sat rapt, silently begging them to pass by the little alcove where the clinic sat quiet and undisturbed. They lingered for a moment in an alley between the clinic and the neighboring parking garage, but then their leader turned his golden mask toward the camera and cocked his head before burying a shuriken into the lens.

Donatello flipped screens to the interior camera, and watched as a soldier put the teenage cashier at gunpoint. He was on his Shellphone in an instant.

Raph's face blinked onto the tiny screen.

"Yo."

"Raph, I need you to get down to the Beekman Street Health Clinic. There's a squad of Foot. Looks like about six. They just entered the building and are taking hostages." He tried to keep the edge of panic out of his voice as the squad leader systematically decimated the security cameras. The last image he saw was of the unnamed girl as she stepped away from her pharmacy computer, alarmed and angry. Her mouth had barely formed the words 'who are you' before the screen blinked into static.

Raph was talking.

"-on my way. I'm like five minutes out."

Five minutes might be too long, but he didn't have much choice and they didn't have any backup. Leo and Splinter had gone scavenging deep into the tunnels, where the phones never got reception. And Mikey was on the complete other side of the city, running his half of the patrol. It would take him the better part of half an hour to get there.

Donnie made a decision. "I'll meet you there."

He was out the door before the call was even disconnected.


	2. Skirmish

Raphael hit the roof with little more than a hollow _thunk_. His steps were whisper-soft as he approached the roof-access door to the Clinic. Within seconds, he'd broken the lock and slipped inside, a dark green shadow in the night.

He hit the store room first. It was a poorly organized labyrinth of boxes stacked high and filled to the brim with vials, syringes, first aid supplies and over-the-counter medication. He had to creep and squeeze through in order to avoid sending the towers toppling down. The slow pace set his teeth on edge, but the last thing he needed to do was to attract the attention of the whole Foot squad.

Donnie had been panicking, he thought. The purple-banded nerd approached most problems with a clinical kind of detachment; simply thinking through the steps of any challenge and finding a solution. Six Foot weren't really a big deal. Hell, any one of the turtles could take out that many on their own. Even with hostages is the balance. Raph didn't know what his brother had seen on his window of monitors in that claustrophobic little cave of his, but the sharp lines of worry around his eyes during the call was enough to set Raph's nerves to jangling.

He picked his way across the clutter of the store room towards the entrance to the main floor. It was a swinging door made of heavy plastic, with a clear pane at about the height of his waist. Barely peeking around the rim of the window, Raph could see one Foot with his gun leveled at the chest of a quivering teenage boy. Further out was another with a rifle barrel pressed flat against the back of an elderly woman where she was curled up on the ground in an aisle lined with oral care products.

So where were the other four?

On the other side of the store room door, he could see the breaker box. All he needed to do was to sneak out the door without being noticed and hit the main switch. He'd have the jump on 'em.

He inched the door open -

And a siren screamed.

"Shit!"

He scrambled for the breaker box and nearly ripped the little metal panel off its hinges right as two Foot appeared from between the aisles and opened fire. The store was plunged into darkness for a moment. Somewhere behind him in the storage room, a generator kicked on and emergency lights flooded the clinic in a dull orange glow.

Raph jumped away from the box and turned his back to the gun-fire, bullets ricocheting off in every direction. One of the soldiers yelped and staggered, hit by his own ammunition. The rest of the bullets buried themselves into the walls. Raph ran at the wall by the store room door, planted his feet and launched backward into the air, flipping over the two stunned and injured Foot. With a snap, he landed a heavy kick to the back of one, throwing him through a shelving unit full of batteries. He cracked the other, already on the ground clinging to his bloodied thigh, across the neck with an elbow. He crumpled. Somewhere behind him, the teenage cashier started to scream, but was cut off sharp and sudden.

Whirling around, he saw the gawky teen fall, his jaw broken by the butt of an small gattling gun. The Foot holding it was built like the Hulk in miniature, and he wielded the gat like it was made of paper. The behemoth turned the barrels on Raphael, the bullets barely nicking the edge of his shell as he tumbled into a stand of cough medicine. The thin plastic bottles crushed under his weight, covering him in sticky liquid that smelled like a gut-turning combination of cherry and rubbing alcohol.

Another Foot soldier dove at him, trying to grab Raph's legs. But his hands slipped across red liquid and smooth scales and the soldier lost his grip. Raph took the opportunity to plant a two-toed foot under his chin and launch him into the dropped ceiling. He disappeared into the cavernous space, shattering the dry wall tile and sending a rain of gypsum and foam onto a couple who were cowering next to a rack of condoms and lubricant.

Raph was suddenly very happy that he hadn't jumped the other direction.

"Nice shot."

Donnie appeared at his side with a grim smile.

"I cleared the two who were guarding the front door. How many did you take?" Don explained, as he extended his hand to help his brother up.

Raph accepted the hand and grunted, "Three. But we've still got the 'roid machine over there to worry about."

Donatello suddenly crinkled his nose and wiped his slick hand across the leather belt holding his gadgets.

"What are you covered in?" he demanded. "You smell like Robitussin."

Before Raph could snap back, the monster of a Foot stepped around the corner, leveling the rotating barrel of his gun at the brothers. They both flipped backward over adjacent aisles as the rest of the cough and cold section was obliterated. As powerful as the weapon was, it was difficult to control and overheated quickly, leaving the barrels steaming as it jammed up.

Suddenly, Donnie got an idea.

"Hey Raph, you remember how David took out Goliath?"

Raphael grinned from where he was crouched next to a demolished pile of baby wipes. "Ha! Hell yeah I do!"

They met in the center of the lane and locked wrists.

"With a slingshot!"

With a bone-wrenching jerk, Donatello was flying across the ground on his shell. He tucked his head and arms as he spun, and felt the crack of tibias as he collided with the brute's legs, throwing him into the air. Raph met the Foot in the air, planting both feet into his chest and burying him a foot deep into a wall of feminine products.

He helped Donnie up from where he kneeled dizzily on the floor.

"The bigger they are-"

"The harder they fall," Donnie finished. They high-threed. But their moment was cut short.

"Ms. Sinclaire, _stay down_!" The shout was shrill and desperate. There was a loud crack and a cacophony of noise.

"Stop! There's no need for that!" An older male voice.

"Jesus! Stop it! You're gonna kill her!" A young woman.

The last voice came as a hiss. "If you move one more time, I'm going to kill _you._"

The brothers crouched down low and picked their way over debris in complete silence. They moved toward the back of the store, where the pharmacy lay.

As they approached, Donnie felt the muscles across his shoulders tense and Raph swore quietly under his breath.

Phil was standing behind the kiosk, hands on his head, eyes trained on a Foot soldier who had a boot pressed into the throat of a elderly woman. Her face was turning purple as she clawed futilely at the man's leg with one hand. Her other arm lay twisted and obviously broken at her side. A few feet in front of him, almost to the metal emergency gate, was the young woman Donnie had spent the better part of a month watching.

Her hair was still in its messy plait, but her outerwear had been replaced by a starched white lab coat and a little plastic name plate with "New Team Member" emblazoned across it. She stood with her fists clenched at her side and an expression of abject loathing directed at the masked attacker.

"Now, now, dear, how about a smile?"

The girl spat at him. "_Va te faire foutre!_"

He cocked his head. "That's not very polite." He dug his heel harder into the woman's neck and she gurgled as her hand fell limply away.

"Fucker!" Raph jumped around the corner before Donatello could snatch him back by his scutes, and ran at the Foot with every intention of taking him out like a bulldozer.

He stopped dead in his tracks as the soldier pointed a long-barreled handgun at the girl through her iron cage. Less than ten feet from her, he couldn't have missed if he tried. Raphael skidded to a stop and glared, an almost mammalian growl slipping through his lips.

Donnie brought up the rear more slowly, taking in the scene in front of him.

_One potential casualty, one intermediate threat, one high threat. Aggressor - unknown skill level. Status - Foot squad leader._

He deliberately avoided looking at the young technician and stepped forward.

"Who are you," he demanded.

"Ahh... Donatello," the soldier remarked with an odd degree of satisfaction. "They told me that you were the inquisitive one." He turned his attention toward the larger, red-banded brother. "And you must be the hot-headed Raphael. I've been waiting for you." The soldier turned his shoulders to face them, gun still trained on the girl in the security cage. He finally lifted his foot from the supine woman's throat.

She started breathing again in whistling gasps, though her face held its blotched purple cast. In his periphery, Donnie saw the girl's shoulders sag in relief.

_One medical need, one intermediate threat, one high threat._

Raph spoke first. "The fuck you mean, 'waiting'?" His hands were clenched so hard, Donnie could hear his knuckles pop.

Something about the angle of his head, or his confident posture told Donnie that the masked soldier was pleased. "Well, I'd only heard stories of your strength and prowess, so I decided to invite you out to see for myself." His voice dropped to a tone that rang with malicious glee. "So _glad_ you accepted my invitation."

Raph growled a string of obscenities so colorful, they would have made Mikey blush. Donatello shifted his weight and cast his eyes about the cramped space, trying to devise a way to get them all out with minimal damage. His roving gaze was arrested by a pair of eyes that stared at him with the kind of probing intensity he'd only seen from Master Splinter. The young woman was watching them, just as she watched the Foot and the Ms. Sinclaire on the ground. Though her arms hung loose at her side, her shoulders were tense and she leaned forward on one foot, as if ready to burst through the gate at their aggressor.

The Foot was speaking again, which drew his attention back to the present danger.

"Though, I have to admit, I am disappointed."

"And why is that," asked Donatello. _Keep him talking_, he thought. _As long as he's talking, he's not acting_.

The Foot chuckled, a sound more like the rattle of a snake than any sound a man would make. "I expected this to be over much quicker," he shrugged languidly. "However, I will make an allowance for the fact that two of your team are absent."

"How generous." The dry reply had come from the girl, right behind a short, humorless laugh.

"My my, what a mouth we have. Shouldn't you be more concerned with your position than my social graces?" He didn't even bother to keep his eyes on the turtles. Raphael took to opportunity to shift one sai from his belt to his hand, inverted to throw.

"As far as I see it," she folded her arms across her chest and cocked her hip in that sassy way that Donnie had seen her do when chatting with customers. Donatello watched her, anxiety building. "You've already made up your mind. You're either going to shoot me, or you're not. Just because you haven't chosen to share-with-the-class doesn't mean that anything I say or do can affect that decision."

The Foot soldier actually laughed then. Hearty peals that sounded like a metal file grinding down a pipe. "How very astute of you, child. It's a shame you're not _kunoichi_. I could use some recruits with a bit of fire in them. However..." He turned and looked straight at the turtles then.

"Donatello, it seems that I have lost your attention. Perhaps I should remedy this by removing your distraction?" Green eyes jerked toward the soldier and he braced his _bo_ just as Raph buried his sai into the side of the gun, effectively jamming the firing mechanism.

But not before he'd unloaded half a clip into the young technician's chest.


	3. Gush

"Fuck!" Raph dove for the iron grating and lifted it with a heave. Phil collapsed behind his podium, anticipating more fire.

The Foot soldier was already gone.

Donatello just stared as the bullets ripped through her chest, trailing bright red tails as they erupted from her back. She looked at him as she fell. And somewhere in the back of his suddenly muted brain, he found it fascinating that she didn't look scared. Didn't look hurt. Just mildly surprised, as if she'd open her refrigerator and found pie when she'd been expecting cake.

Then she hit the ground and Raph was screaming.

"Donnie! What the hell do you think you're doing, man? Get the fuck over here!"

He snapped to attention and bolted forward, sliding beneath the metal grate. He jammed it open with his _bo_ staff as he went, Raph close on his tail.

The girl on the ground tried to lift her hand to her shoulder where a bouquet of vermillion flowers bloomed across her sterile white coat. Her "New Team Member" badge had been shattered by one of the rounds.

"Hey kid, don't move," commanded Raph in a low, rough voice.

She chuckled, blood splattering her lips. "Why not, Raphael?" The burlier brother jumped in surprise at hearing his name on her lips. "I worked as an EMT long enough to know I'm already dead."

"Shh-shh-shh," Donnie muttered soothingly. He propped her head up on a plastic bin and tried to pull her jacket back.

She swatted at his hand weakly and mumbled, "Trying to get my clothes off, Donatello? We haven't even had our first date." She flashed a crooked smile at him and something in his gut wrenched. He peeled the tattered cloth away from her shoulder without further protest.

To his immense relief, she didn't seem to be bleeding out much. The major arteries in her chest had been missed, though it was likely that a number of ribs and her scapula were shattered.

"Phil!"

The portly man rose shakily from behind his podium, staring at them with as much fear as he'd given the Foot soldiers.

"If you have anything in this place that can be used as a clotting agent and pressure bandages, I need them now!" Donatello didn't look up, but he heard the man shuffle and skitter around the pharmacy behind them.

"G-got it," he stuttered when he came back, arms laden with a motley assortment of packages. He handed them off to Raphael; avoiding touching his hands like he had the plague. He cast his eyes down at his newest coworker.

"Are you gonna save 'er?"

Donatello pulled the shoulder of her shirt down and poured hydrogen peroxide across the wounds - four holes clear through - and didn't respond. She hissed a quick breath between her teeth and glanced at him again. He avoided her eyes.

"Raph, I'm going to need your help. When I tell you to, I need you to slide your hands under her shoulder and put pressure on the wounds. We need to stem the flow or she'll bleed out." Donatello was in clinical mode, all panic and emotion drained away in the moment of need.

"Phil," he said, "Why don't you go check on Ms. Sinclaire and see if there's anyone else in the store who needs help?" It was posed as a question, but the tone brooked no room for argument.

Nodding silently, the pharmacist shuffled away, barely squeezing under the gate in his haste. He was wan and pale, and he didn't look back.

Donatello sprinkled the package of quick-clotting formula over her wounds; the tiny, artificial thrombocytes working wonders on the surface. But there was something about the wet, ragged sound of her breathing that was setting off alarm bells in his head.

He flipped his goggles down over his eyes and flipped a switch on the homemade medical aide.

And swore out loud.

Raphael stared at him incredulously. The most mild-mannered of the bunch, Donatello was the last brother he'd ever expect to say anything obscene. But the string of expletives combined with the sudden scramble through his bags had Raph's nerves jumped even higher than they were before.

"Wha'? What the hell's goin' on, Donnie?"

"One of the bullets caused a pleural effusion and she's hemorrhaging into her lungs!"

"What?"

Donnie nearly shouted at his brother. "She's going to drown in her own blood long before she ever dies of blood loss!"

From the bottom of a bag, he withdrew a length of plastic tubing and a short metal shunt that looked like a sharpened wine aerator. With careful, probing fingers, he found the wound that most likely nicked her lung, and finally met her eyes.

He was suddenly struck with the realization that he was seeing her in full color for the first time. Her hair was a deep brown like pure Peruvian cocoa, frizzed out and matted with blood that was slowly congealing. Skin paler than it should have been, except for the high flush points across her cheekbones. Eyes that had seemed so dark from afar were closer to the color of a raw emerald, with narrow golden sunbursts at their center. His stomach flipped when she suddenly coughed and splattered fresh blood across the back of his hand. When she opened her eyes again, she looked almost apologetic.

"How bad is it, doc?"

His mouth set in a grim line. "You're bleeding internally. I've got to siphon some of the blood out of your lungs, or you're going to choke." He paused, waiting for the panic, but her gaze was steady.

"So what do I need to do?"

"Try not to move."

She gave the barest of nods and he turned his attention toward his brother, who was watching the conversation in wary silence.

'Raph, stick your hands out."

Donnie soaked his brother's hands, and his jerry-rigged tools, in the remaining peroxide before wrapping Raph's hands in layer-upon-layer of gauze. He was trying to form something like a cross between sterile gloves and a pressure pad.

"Okay, now I need you to press down on the front and back of her shoulder to slow the bleeding from the other sites and hold her steady." Raph nodded and slid one large hand under her shoulder, eliciting a gurgling hiss from their patient.

"Easy boys, no need to manhandle me."

He caught her eyes again. "I've never performed a thoracentesis before. I have no anesthetic and I don't know enough about the painkillers that are here to help you. It's going to hurt-"

"-like a motha' fucker," Raph interjected.

"I'm a big girl. I can handle it." There was a steely resolve in her eyes, a determination not to just roll over and die. To his surprise, he thought he could also see a small measure of trust. Though that could have been borne from having no other option.

"I'm going to ask you questions during. I want you to stay conscious. Right now, you're the only one who can gauge how you're doing."

She nodded again. "Just get it over with, already."

Donnie grunted uncharacteristically. "Going in. Raph, hold her tight."

He slid the slip of metal through the bullet wound, eliciting a whining groan from the girl.

"So what's your name, kid?" Raphael started the conversation, allowing Donnie to focus on finding the right spot in the lesion.

He could feel the narrow, tattered gash on the lateral side of the right lung, just between the ribs, below the once-navy band of her bra.

She gritted her teeth so tightly Raph could hear them creak, but she managed a short, breathy answer.

"Aubrey."

"Weird name."

She glared. "You're one to talk."

Raph grunted but cracked a smile. "Where ya from, Aub," he queried, arbitrarily deciding to shorten her name. "No one 'round here's gotta accent like that."

She chuckled and then grimaced. The metal tip had found its way through the hole and Donatello was trying to attach the tubing without jarring her too much.

"Lincoln Parish, in Louisiana."

"So out in th' boonies?"

"You could say that."

"What brought you to New York?" It was Donnie's turn. He tried to ignore that he was asking the questions he'd wondered about for weeks, at what might be his last opportunity to ask them at all. His hands were soaked in fresh, warm blood.

Her eyes shifted from the red turtle to the violet one.

"Was going to school at LSU-" she wheezed as the tube finally slid home, and Donnie thought she might faint. Instead, she continued.

"They didn't have a pharmaco-," she panted, "-genomics program..." _gurgle_, "and I couldn't afford out-of-state tuition."

"So you put your education on hold?" He glanced up and was alarmed to see her shaking.

"Yep. Got a tech license and moved. Gonna be a bonafide resident." Aubrey's voice had become low and husky and her eyes glazed. Her breaths came in increasingly shallow pants, but she held his eyes until he looked away.

"I don't know if this will hurt-"

"Do it."

Gently, he put his mouth to the other end of the tube and sucked. Blood slid up in a thick, inky-red line until it reached his lips. Donnie detached his mouth at the last second and Aubrey's blood came dribbling out like a leaking faucet.

After a moment, she took a deep breath, but her shaking had grown worse, with gooseflesh creeping up her arms. Her eyes had slipped shut.

The sour tang of panic rose in his throat. He flipped his goggles down again and felt the bile rise into his mouth. Her heart was racing but her blood pressure was much too low. She was going into hypovolaemic shock.

This wasn't like the field triage he performed on his brothers, where the worst they usually experienced was cracked shells and stitches. This strangely strong and fragile girl was dying. She'd lost too much blood and her whole body was starting to fail, and without any blood to give back to her, or any way to slow the flow, there was nothing they could do to save her.

He sat back and placed his shaking fists on his thighs.

Raph stared at him, alarmed. "Donnie, what're you doing? Ya can't just stop!"

"She's dead, Raph."

"No she ain't! She's layin' right there, breathin'. I can feel her heart beatin'-"

"She doesn't have enough blood, Raph!" Donatello could feel his stress rising to the breaking point. His voice was raising higher as he spoke. "She lost too much blood. We don't have any here to give her. She's already passed out, and in just a few more minutes she's going to be _dead_." He groaned and flipped his goggles back up on his head, staring at his hands, where the blood was beginning to dry and flake. "She doesn't have any mutagen in her system like we do. She can't heal quick enough to save her." Donnie's voice had grown soft and despondent.

Raph was quiet for a heartbeat before he jerked his hands out from under her.

"Fuck that bullshit!"

Raphael ripped the makeshift gloves from his hands and with a flash of hidden steel, had sliced a gash across each palm deep enough to gush. Before Donatello could stop him, he'd already wrenched the tubing viciously from her chest and pressed a hand to either side of her bloodied shoulder. He squeezed his palms, forcing out as much of his own life force as he could.

"If she needs some mutagen, we'll give her some goddamn mutagen."

Donatello didn't stop him. Her short, ragged breaths had ceased, her heart still. She was gone. Instead, he stood slowly and turned his back towards the corpse. All around him, he could smell antiseptic, peroxide and blood. Her blood, all over him.

They'd come across bodies before - products of the violence that was present in every huge city in the world. Most of the time, they just left them where they were and followed the traces to the murderer. But they'd never been there when the corpse was made; when the victim, who had a life and dreams and a future cut short, became another nameless body. Another coin in the grave-diggers pocket.

He heard Raphael shift, cursing, and ease on to his feet. When he glanced back, he'd draped her lab coat over her face. A final tribute to the dead.

Against his will, Donnie cursed again. "Dammit."

Raph sidled up beside him and laid an equally bloodied hand on his shoulder.

"Hey man, you did all you could." His voice was soothing, forgiving. And Donatello wasn't having any of it.

He clenched his fists, tasting failure on his tongue like he'd swallowed a sharpened blade. "But it wasn't enough. She died anyway." He suddenly felt dirty, as if the blood soaking his skin was somehow staining him, marking him as guilty as her murderer. He resisted the urge to scrub it away.

Raphael's brows furrowed and he opened his mouth to respond, only to be interrupted by a rasping breath. They turned as one toward where the young technician lay in her bloodied veil.

"There's no way-" Donatello choked on his words as he saw another quick rise and fall of the jacket. "It's gotta be some kind of post-mortem twitch, or something."

He crouched down and carefully peeled back the lab coat. He place two broad fingers against the pulse point along the jugular and nearly reeled when he felt a faint, fluttering beat. He didn't trust his voice.

"Donnie?"

Without responding, he gently lifted Aubrey from the ground and sprinted through the wreckage of the store, Raphael hot on his heels.


	4. Indefinitely

Sunlight poured through the trees, staining the ground in mottled shades of green. The air was filled with cricket song and the sweet smell of fresh-cut timber. Not far off, a soft, rhythmic lapping whispered a promise of Spring. Though they were thousands of miles downstream from any snow melt, the warm season would see the river swelling to the very edges of the small levee. Then, the burbling sound of the stream would grow to a roar.

Aubrey stared into a sky so bright that it seemed white, and fiddled with the piece of sweetgrass in her teeth. The breeze was still cool and chills crept across her skin even as the evening sun warmed her. A pale mist floated across the pasture like fingers ghosting over the pages of a long-forgotten book.

Her eyes drifted shut as she relished the moment.

She had missed this - the sounds of the earth slowly coming awake after months of sleep, the full range of the sky, and the rustle of leaves in the wind. As much as she enjoyed the constant change and life of the city, there was something about her countryside home that resonated deep within her. Like a part of her soul had been missing.

"Aubrey?"

She jumped and spun around to face the sudden voice. A woman stood beneath the giant live oak that shaded the back corner of their home. She had a willowy form with skin as pale and translucent as china. The hem of her sundress danced in the wind. She looked so much younger than Aubrey remembered.

But then, she had died when Aubrey was ten.

"Hey mama," she smiled.

Her mother stepped forward, concern creasing her brow. For a moment, Aubrey caught a flash of her in the hospital - head wrapped in a worn blue scarf, skin crumpling like the crust of a day-old croissant. But then, the phantom was gone and her mother stood again, face flushed with youthful beauty and her hair falling in wild red curls to her shoulders.

"Honey, what are you doing here? You're not supposed to be here yet." There was a hollow, echoing quality to her voice, as if she were speaking from the other end of a long tunnel.

Aubrey tried to remember why she had come home. Where had she been before? Phil's portly face flashed across her mind, a sheen of sweat coating his brow as he panicked about the missing supplies from the night's order. She thought of Mrs. Sinclair, who had knitted her a hat and scarf as a gift for her first New York Winter.

_"It's always better to dress in extra layers, dear,"_ she'd said, her gray eyes crinkling into a warm smile.

Without warning, the smile twisted in agony as her arm was wrenched from the socket. A gold mask with a grimace like Tragedy. Flashes of green and red - scarlet blooming across her shoulder like the carnations at a funeral.

A searing pain lanced her shoulder, as if she'd been stabbed with a poker. Her breaths came in gurgling gasps. She could feel piercing metal, and hands grasping her with fierce pressure. A doleful voice reached out through the dark. She felt like she was drowning.

Soft, cool hands cupped her face, almost burning against her fevered cheeks.

"Aubrey look at me." Her mother was crouched before her, eyes penetrating and serious.

"I think I died," Aubrey gasped as the pain ripped through her again.

"Shh... Baby, listen to me. You have to leave. You're not supposed to be here yet." Her mother's voice was hurried and quiet, as if she were afraid to be heard.

She continued as Aubrey stared at her, uncomprehending. "You have to go back to the other side of the river, before the water gets too high. If you don't, you'll be stuck here." With a force she hadn't possessed in life, she wrenched her daughter to her feet and pushed her across the field, towards the gurgling stream.

Aubrey stumbled forward, nearly sinking as the soft earth around her turned swampy and the lingering fog began to thicken. Far away, there was a sound like the howling of a gale. She turned back to look for her mother.

She was standing beneath the oak again, waving at her frantically, pushing her on.

"But-"

Her mother voice sounded as if it came from beside her.

"Go quickly, Aubrey. I'll be here waiting until it's your time. But you have to go - now!"

Aubrey nodded mutely and felt, more than saw, her mother smile. She faced forward and started toward the river at a run, her legs beating the familiar path, even as her feet sunk into the reedy muck.

The river suddenly roared to life. Aubrey's stomach rose to her throat as she cast a glance upstream. A wall of water raced down the narrow ravine towards her. The edges of the waves lifted and jumped forward, dragging against the levee like a thousand hands digging into the soft soil of the banks. She surged forward, and the marsh seemed to clutch at her ankles, pulling her down. She scrabbled up the breakwater and in one swift move launched herself across to the other embankment. As she landed, the river crashed down and then suddenly settled into eerie quiet, lapping calmly at the edges of the levee once again.

When she turned to face the river, her mother was standing on the other side, smiling sadly.

"Go, sweetheart."

"I'll see you soon, _maman_."

Her mother only continued to smile. "Not too soon. _Je t'aime, ma petite._"

"_Je t'aime bien, maman._"

* * *

"I think she's waking up..."

"Give her room to breathe!"

"It might be a good idea if you guys just left for now..."

Aubrey woke to feeling like her eyes had been stitched shut. There was an enormous weight on her chest and a line of fire ran across the edge of her shoulder blade like a hook-shaped brand.

She tried to roll to her side and tip off whatever was holding her down but was swept by a wave of pain so intense, she thought she might vomit. The noise she made was like a whining groan, low and rasping against her throat. It felt as if she'd been breathing sand.

Cool hands pressed her back and Aubrey wrenched her eyes open. She found herself surrounded by a silky blaze.

_Maman?_

"Hey now, don't get up. We gotchya. You're safe." The voice sounded like it came from underwater, but it most certainly was not her mother. Her heart thumped like an 808 in her ears.

A flurry of questions buffeted her mind, but when she tried to speak, there was pain and a taste like hot pennies in her mouth.

The soft, muted voice came again. "Can she have water?" There was a response from somewhere past the fall of auburn hair, but it may as well have been from beyond a waterfall. The world was tipping and roaring too much to make sense of anything.

_I'm dead_.

_No. Death shouldn't feel like this._

_Right?_

"No, you're not dead..." There was something like laughter in the tone and Aubrey got the sense that whoever was talking and hiding behind the mane of red was probably a kind person. And a mind-reader.

A giggle.

"You got yourself a funny one here, Don."

A gruff response that sounded vaguely like "...not mine."

And then there was something cool spilling across her lips and down her throat, like ice quenching the fire and washing away the taste of molten metal. Too bad it did nothing for the conflagration decimating her arm and chest. She coughed and the sensation exploded, taking her vision with it for a moment before it all faded back into darkness.

When she came to again, it was to a sound like thunder, deep and furious, rolling over the room.

"-seen by no less than six individuals, were caught on camera in full light, _destroyed_ a business, and then _brought one of the hostages home with you?!_"

There was shuffling and the creak of leather. A small, hesitant voice emerged from the dark.

"But Master-"

The sound of something heavy slamming against stone. "NO! What you have done is beyond the scope of irresponsibility! You have-"

More shuffling and heavy footsteps. "Master!"

"You dare to-"

"Master, she was _dead_!"

Somewhere in the distance, there was the steady _drip-drip_ of water trickling into a puddle. Far overhead, she could hear the roar of traffic and the bells of street cars. Even with all the distant commotion, her breathing sounded loud in the sudden silence of the room.

The response was harsh and demanding. "What?"

A moment of silence and the quiet voice emerged again.

"She was dead, Master Splinter. As in no heartbeat. No breath. No _life_. And then Raph-"

There was a sound like a whip cutting the air and a clatter as something heavy fell.

"It's not Raph's fault! I told him that she would die without blood so he... gave her... some blood?"

The last part was murmured, as if uncertainty had stunted the words. Aubrey listened attentively as the people in the room talked about her, as if she was a plant standing in the corner and not a person lying passed out nearby. She kept her eyes closed and her breathing as even as possible.

"April," the harsh voice had turned solemn and patronly, "it appears that our guest requires assistance. Donatello," the edge returned, "you will explain in full."

There was no sound. Just a feeling like the air parting around her and a sudden sense of emptiness. Aubrey cracked her eyes open and met the grinning face of a redhead in a yellow canvas jacket. The colors were bright and glaring against her sensitive eyes, but the girl looked so friendly, she couldn't help but return a weak smile.

Well at least she tried. About the time she parted her lips, the brittle skin cracked and the taste of copper filled her mouth again.

"Oh! Wait there, don't move!" The girl scrambled away and disappeared behind a broken concrete divider.

Aubrey took the opportunity to observe her surroundings. Though her vision was blurry, she could see a giant television screen with an entertainment center that looked like it had been pieced together by Doctor Frankenstein. Its parts came from at least three different systems made of coated pressboard in a diverse arrangement of colors. It held a newer-looking DVD player and piles of movies that made Pisa seem like an ancient achievement in uprightness. On either side of the television were plush, comfortable-looking bean bags, which had been worn soft and patched over time. However, they looked like they were designed to seat two or three people each, and she wondered briefly how many people had been in the room before.

The young woman emerged from behind a concrete wall with a plain white mug in hand. She crouched down, her jeans squeaking as they rubbed against the pile of well-worn cardboard that Aubrey was lying on. She held the mug to the injured girl's lips.

"Here, drink it slowly."

Aubrey's right arm had been laid across her torso, on top of a lumpy, corduroy pillow the color of old leaves. When she tried to lift her hand to steady the cup, a spasm radiated across her chest and she gasped, nearly choking on the water.

Every cough sent throbbing jolts through her shoulder. The redhead slid an arm beneath her and lifted her slightly. The movement was excruciating, but the change of position allowed Aubrey to steady her breathing enough to stop coughing. The pain didn't subside.

"Maybe we should _not_ try moving on our own, huh?"

Aubrey couldn't help the hint of vexation at the girl's laughing tone, but withheld the overly-acidic reply lingering on the tip of her tongue in favor not moving any more than necessary.

"I'm April, by the way. I'd shake your hand but I'm afraid that would do more harm than good."

"Aubrey," she managed to croak.

"You're lucky to be alive, Aubrey. It's a good thing the boys got to you when they did." April gave her with a grim smile. Her eyes were dark as a coming storm.

"What happened?"

April made a distressed noise in the back of her throat. "Do you remember anything?"

Aubrey shook her head slightly and immediately regretted it as heat suffused her shoulder and neck. "Not much," she wheezed. "There were a bunch of guys in masks -"

"The Foot Clan," April supplied.

Aubrey frowned. She had only heard a little about the group of gangsters since she'd arrived in the city. But from what she understood, they tended toward larger-scale attacks on cargo freighters and banks. They didn't seem like the corner-store robbery type.

She continued anyway. "One of them came back and attacked one of our patients." Mrs. Sinclair's bruised face flashed across her mind's eye followed by the sickening crunch of broken bones. Aubrey felt nauseous. April only nodded.

"Then these guys showed up. Looking like some kind of crazy samurai from an anime convention." April's mouth quirked, as if she were trying to smother a smile. Aubrey only raised an eyebrow.

"They were arguing - I mouthed off at the masked asshat," April outright giggled at that. "And then he shot me."

Like a light switching off in a house, April expression turned grave. Aubrey turned her gaze on the redhead, seeing again the vague similarity to her own mother. But the differences were more outstanding. April's hair fell in a soft wave and was a brighter, more vivid red than her mother's had ever been. Her skin had the slight bronze cast of someone who enjoyed the sun, where her mother had always been a delicate petal pink. April was healthier, younger, and more vibrant, with a gleam of intelligent humor in her eye.

Aubrey liked her already.

Her thoughts turned back to her dream of her mother. The riverside by their old farmhouse - the same one that had burned down less than a year before, taking the oak with it in the blaze.

_Was it a dream?_

"April?" she hesitated.

"Hmm?"

Aubrey swallowed around the rock that formed in her throat.

"Was I dead?"

April rolled back on her heels and looked away stiffly.

"I don't know. We'll have to ask the boys what happened when they get back."

Aubrey groaned and shifted to sit more fully upright against the arm of what she now realized was a couch made from pizza boxes. As she turned her face toward the cardboard, she caught the faint, lingering smell of Italian spices.

April helped the best she could, sliding another shabby pillow underneath her back for support.

"Where are they?" Aubrey queried.

April stood. "Just in the other room, I think. I can go check for you," she offered.

Aubrey knit her brows together in confusion. The memories after being shot were incoherent. Flashes of brown and green, worried eyes, soft purple fabric grazing her cheek, two men bickering, biting cold inside her chest, someone asking her questions, shouting and then darkness.

_I died_, she thought.

_So how am I alive?_

April was staring at her. Her eyes searched the brunette's face, as if trying to read her thoughts from her expression alone. April's focus was snatched away, suddenly, as a shadow shifted across the couch.

"She's completely conscious this time," April murmured.

"Thank you, April. We will take it from here." The voice was soft, but commanding. Aubrey recognized it from before, when he'd been shouting. April nodded and with a final encouraging smile, turned on her heel and left the room.

"It is good to see you awake." The voice was soft and carried an accent reminiscent of the far East. It made her think of cherry blossoms and steaming mugs of tea.

The speaker stood behind Aubrey's head, where she couldn't turn to see him.

"Why are you standing back there?"

The man hummed in response. Aubrey was reminded of when her late grandfather would make non-committal noises to fill the space between thoughts when he didn't want them interrupting him. She held her tongue.

He finally spoke. "I am sorry for the secrecy, my child. My sons and I are..." he seemed to struggle for a moment.

Another voice, further away supplied, "Different." There was a bitter edge to the word.

Aubrey huffed, "Well aren't we all?"

There was a faint snicker from off to her left, beyond the back of the couch. Aubrey tried to cast a surreptitious glance over the cardboard and saw only a table lit by a dim, overhanging light.

Suddenly, the voice sighed and Aubrey swore she could feel the breath gust across the top of her head. She cast her eyes up and saw grizzled brown hair.

_An old man?_

"Perhaps we strain the definition of the word. We are unique among the creatures of this earth," he paused. "And we do not want to frighten you."

Aubrey closed her eyes and thought over his choice in words. Her mouth twisted in a wry smile.

"You could be peg-legged lepers from outer space, for all I care. You saved my life, and I would rather thank you to your face than from behind furniture made from Papa John's leftovers," she paused for a moment.

"As impressive as said furniture is..." she added.

There was a long moment of silence and Aubrey couldn't shake the feeling that there was a noiseless conference going on behind her. She kept her eyes closed and listened to the sound of her own breathing. She tried to imagine the pain in her arm drifting away like sea foam on an imaginary tide.

Finally, the speaker sighed again, breaking her meditation, and murmured, "Very well."

There was a thump and the sound of leather dragging across stone. When she opened her eyes, she was staring into the somber gaze of a gigantic rat dressed in meticulously arranged gray robes. He stood upright, with shoulders squared and feet slightly parted, as if he were waiting in parade rest at a military lineup. His fur was a light, nutty brown shot through white. Long whiskers quivered in time to the twitching of a broad, pink nose.

Aubrey held her breath. A hundred possibilities had run through her head over what her saviors may have looked like. A human-sized rat was not among them. She'd heard all kinds of crazy stories before coming to the city, about ghosts haunting schools and monster alligators attacking people from the sewers. She felt a hysterical bubble building in her chest.

_They got their animals wrong - he's not even a reptile!_

Then, as if the ghost of her dream were emerging into the waking world, her mother's voice rang through her head.

_"Where are your manners, young lady?"_

Her breath came out in an audible whoosh. "My name is Aubrey LaRille. It's a pleasure to meet you."

The rat seemed genuinely surprised by her response, though he dipped his head in a shallow bow.

"I am Splinter. It is a pleasure, Miss LaRille." He stood straight again and looked past her, beyond the back of the couch, to where she'd heard laughter before.

"I would like to introduce you to my sons. Leonardo..."

She had followed his gaze in an attempt to see whoever was standing beyond her vision, but when she turned back, she nearly jumped out of her skin when she was greeted by the almost hostile gaze of a six-and-a-half-foot tall, muscle-bound turtle.

At least, that's what Aubrey thought he was. The only real indicator was the shell attached to his back. For the most part, he just looked like a body builder with olive green skin. If it weren't for the smatterings of dark green and brown scales, the slitted nostrils, and the smoothness of his head and face, he would have just looked like a man in costume. Most of his face, however, was covered in a tattered blue mask.

He bowed quickly and stepped back.

Splinter continued with a wave of his hand.

"Michelangelo..."

With a sudden yip and an extravagant front-flip, another turtle launched himself over the couch, startling Aubrey into jumping. A hiss of pain whistled through her teeth, but she watched as he landed in a near silent crouch.

"Sup, baby cakes! Didn't mean to scare ya! You can call me Mikey - all the ladies do." He winked at her beyond an orange bandana, and Aubrey felt the growing apprehension escape her in a bubble of laughter. Michelangelo seemed quite pleased with himself and flopped back onto one of the bean bags, nearly taking it up completely.

Splinter heaved a long-suffering sigh.

"And you have already met my other two sons."

Two more muscle-bound behemoths walked around the edge of the couch. The tallest and brawniest of the bunch stomped up to his blue-clad brother's side, rolling a toothpick in his mouth. He folded his arms across his chest and leaned back on his heels. It was only then that Aubrey noticed that they only had two toes on each foot. He glared at her, though Aubrey got the distinct impression that he glared at everyone.

The other was tall as well, but of a leaner build. He shuffled up to stand on the opposite side of Splinter and seemed to look everywhere but at her.

"Raphael and Donatello," she murmured.

Raphael pulled his head back as if dodging a punch before nodding curtly. "Good to see ya breathin', kid."

Donatello, however, looked alarmed. "S-so you do remember us..."

It didn't escape Aubrey's notice that Splinter was watching them carefully. For what, she wasn't sure, but it only added to the growing itch of discomfort creeping beneath her skin.

"You two performed triage on me. You were there when I... died." while she was sure of it, she felt like she needed a confirmation. Donatello swallowed audibly and shuffled his feet. He wouldn't look at her again.

"Huh-" Raphael huffed. "S'more Donnie than me. Alls I did is give ya some blood." He turned his palms out toward her then, and she saw the puffed purple welts of slash wounds healing over. Even so, they looked like they were days old at least.

"How long have I been out?"

Leonardo supplied an answer, "A little less than two hours. We've barely had the time to get you here and get your wounds cleaned."

Aubrey glanced down at herself. It was only then that she noticed that her shirt was completely gone, replaced by stark white bandages. Beneath the gauze, she could feel that her bra was missing as well. She let out a squeak of shock.

Aubrey was mortified. She looked up at them sharply, unable to keep the accusation from her face. Her skin burned from her chest to her roots.

The whole group of them took a sudden step back, as if startled by her rapid change in demeanor.

Mikey seemed to be the only one to understand. He bolted upright in his beanbag and waved his three-fingered hands in a placating manner.

"Nah, babe! It wasn't like that. April changed you - we didn't see anything!"

The hysteria was building again. She tried to calm herself but she could feel her breaths coming in short pants. This was too much. Giants rats and turtles fighting gang members in the streets of New York City? Saving her life, then taking her to some underground lair?

_And I died_, her mind supplied again. _I DIED_.

The room started fading at the edges.

"April!" Leonardo called out, "You might wanna come back in here!"

The redhead's face popped back around the corner. The moment she saw Aubrey, she shot out from behind the wall, thrusting a tray of steaming mugs into Raphael's hands as she went. He hissed as the contents of one of the cups sloshed over his arm.

She glanced back apologetically. "Sorry, Raph." Then turned to the girl who was quickly descending into a full-blown panic attack.

"Hey! Hey now, Aubrey look at me."

Hazel eyes met warm brown and April smiled.

"It's gonna be okay. We know it's been a crazy day, but you're safe here. No one can hurt you," she soothed, brushing back the tangle of brown curls from Aubrey's face. "It's gonna be alright," she repeated.

April looked over her shoulder at the five hovering awkwardly.

"Guys, can you give us a minute?" They nodded, and in a blink, they were all gone without a trace.

Aubrey jumped at the sudden change. "T-they just disappeared..."

April laughed. "Yeah, it takes some getting used to. They're ninjas, so they kinda do that all the time. Now imagine walking out of the shower, half-drunk at four AM and having them just lurking in your living room," she quirked a smile at Aubrey's wide-eyed stare. "It's enough to scare the piss outta ya. I had to start arming myself with projectile coffee cups before they would learn to knock first."

Despite herself, Aubrey began to giggle at the image of the giant turtle creatures diving for cover from a flurry of ceramic mugs. The laughter was a little frantic and it pulled at the sore muscles in her chest, but it helped to ease the bubble of tension that had built to bursting.

April chuckled along, memories playing in a reel before her eyes. She shook her head finally and met Aubrey's eyes directly. It was a sobering stare, forewarning the gravity of the conversation to come.

"Aubrey, are you okay?"

The brunette raised an angular brow.

April laughed. "Okay, so maybe not the best question," she admitted with a shrug of her narrow shoulders. "Are you afraid of them?"

Aubrey frowned, her brow furrowing in thought. Startled? Yes. Confused? Yes. Slightly in awe and extremely overwhelmed? Yes. But was she afraid of them?

"No," she gave April a lopsided grin. "I guess it's a little hard to be afraid of the people who somehow brought you back from the dead." Suddenly, her face contorted again.

"April, what exactly _are_ they? I mean, Splinter is, or was at some point, clearly a rat. The others looked like jacked-up versions of turtle samurai."

"Ninjas," April corrected with a grin.

"I've never seen a ninja that wears armor that looks like a homemade replica from The Last Samurai."

April laughed aloud at that. "When have you ever _seen _a ninja before now?"

Aubrey chuckled and let slide the fact that April had dodged her question. "You may have a point." She groaned and lifted a hand to her injured shoulder. "April, what happened to me?"

April gave her a sympathetic look. "That may be a better question for Raph and Don. They were the ones who were there. If you've got any missing pieces, they'll be the ones who can fill you in."

Aubrey nodded. "Would you mind asking them to come back, if I haven't scared them off already?"

April snickered. "Oh, it'll take a lot more than that to scare them off. I'll be right back."

When she disappeared behind the couch, Aubrey let her head fall back with a soft _thunk_. She thought back to the Clinic and the moments before she passed out. Her vision faded long before her consciousness. She could feel the suction drawing the fluid out of her lungs, hear the splash of her blood against the rough, dark carpet. The brush of fabric over her skin.

A miserable voice saying, "_She's already dead..._"

A thin chill of horror crept up her spine at the thought, raising goosebumps in its wake.

Her morbid thoughts were interrupted by the movement of air around her - the silent warning that she was no longer alone. Aubrey opened her eyes slowly.

The turtles were standing before her, eyeing her warily. April appeared at her side and at her request, helped her shift to sit up.

Aubrey met their gazes one-by-one. She breathed deeply through her nose before speaking.

"I'm sorry," she began. This seemed to catch them off guard again. "I want you to know that my reaction earlier isn't because of any aversion to you." She gave them a small, hesitant smile.

Leonardo relaxed visibly and Mikey beamed.

"It's been a long, trying day -"

Raph gave a short, humorless laugh.

"- Probably more for you than for me. At least I got to pass out! I didn't have to deal with my unconscious self." Her expression turned somber. "And I want you all to know how very grateful I am to you."

"Mikey and Leonardo," they both looked at her. "Thank you for allowing me to stay here up to this point. I'm sure it's been a huge inconvenience."

"It's no problem, girl! Any time we get the chance to have sleeping beauty over -" Raph cut him off with a sharp jab to the ribs.

"And Raphael, Donatello, thank you for saving me. I've watched people die from lesser wounds than what I received. I don't know how you did it, but thank you. I owe you my life." Raph looked pleased despite himself. Donatello just looked uncomfortable.

The words were hard to get out. Not that Aubrey was ungrateful in the least, but it was difficult to acknowledge how close she had really come to being among the dearly departed. But a question still lingered.

"I'll be out of your way as soon as I'm able to move, but I have to ask - how am I even alive?"

All eyes turned to Donatello. He stuttered and fidgeted, pushing a pair of tatty Coke-bottle glasses up the broad ridge that formed his nose. They slid back down almost immediately, but he didn't move to correct them.

"W-well you see," he cleared his throat and finally looked at her. "We're not really sure." Suddenly, he started pacing.

"For all intents and purposes, you were dead. No heartbeat, no breath. Then Raph -" he gestured towards his brother, who was tightening a red skull cap around his head. "- he gave you a crude transfusion." His gesticulations grew wilder.

"You were suffering from hypovolaemic shock. There's _no way_ that should have helped you as far gone as you were. And for all we know," he paused mid-stride to give Raph a stern look. Raphael responded by shifting the toothpick from one side of his mouth to the other. "- if you hadn't been dead already, the introduction of foreign blood could have killed you. There's no telling what the mutagen might have -"

"I'm sorry," Aubrey interrupted with a wave. "Mutagen?"

"Oh," Donatello paused in the middle of his pacing and looked at her as if he was only just noticing her existence. "We're mutants. Products of mutative genetic experimentation."

"Ah... of course you are," she mumbled. Donnie continued as if she'd never interrupted.

"There are just too many variables. We were lucky to be among the lab specimens to survive, but even then the mutagen was introduced during our developmental period. Giving an adult mutagen could have had devastating consequences on their biology..."

"But it didn't," she interrupted again. "It brought me back to life."

"More or less," the purple-banded mutant agreed. "It's more realistic that the mutagen kept you on the edge of shock long enough for your body to recover function and begin healing itself."

"So... am I a mutant now?"

He scoffed. "Not likely. If it's anything like a normal blood transfusion, the mutagen will pass out of your system as Raph's blood deteriorates. It'll heal you up and you'll be back to normal."

Aubrey's thoughts turned to her mother, pushing her back across the river.

He hesitated. "Though..."

"Though what?" Aubrey didn't like the nervous gleam in his eye as he turned toward her again.

"Well... nothing like this has ever happened before, so we really don't know if there will be any long-term consequences -"

"Besides my being alive, of course. I'm hoping that's long-term."

He grimaced. "Your body has already healed internally. It seems the mutagen has moved from the areas of greatest damage to the areas of least damage; following the natural healing process of your body. Unless you develop some kind of adverse reaction..." He trailed off, uncertainty stealing his words.

"I see." The others shifted where they stood behind Donatello.

Leonardo stepped forward then. His presence was commanding and his tone made no allowances for discussion. "It has been decided that, until we feel safe that you no longer pose a risk of further mutation, you'll remain here for observation."

Aubrey's eyes narrowed. "And how long, exactly, are you estimating that will be?"

Donatello was jittery again, tweaking the knobs on some contraption on his hip. "Well, it could be only a matter of weeks..."

_Weeks?_

"Or it could be indefinitely," Leonardo added.

_Indefinitely?_ Aubrey could feel the panic rising in her throat again, hot and sour like bile.

April suddenly clapped her hands. "Let's stay positive, guys! We don't really know what's going to happen yet. Aubrey, I'm sure you'll be out of here in no time." Her uneasy smile spoke otherwise, though.

"There's a good chance that you can leave as soon as you're all healed up. I'll have to monitor your condition to make sure that you're actually..."

Aubrey began to drone them out as her thoughts began crushing in on her.

_Trapped somewhere underground._

_With a house full of mutants._

She looked at Raphael and Leonardo.

_Grumpy mutants._

_Indefinitely..._

"Hey," April laid a hand on her good shoulder, squeezing it gently. "Are you feeling okay?"

Without realizing it, Aubrey had lifted her hand to her face, pinching the bridge of her nose to ward away the headache that was closing in. She could hear her pulse pounding in her ears.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just a little light-headed," she said with a half-hearted smile.

"Maybe you should lay back and rest some more. You've really been moving more than you should be, given that you got shot a couple hours ago." She smiled gently.

"Yeah, maybe you're right. Can we talk about this tomorrow? I don't think I'm really up for this now."

There was a murmur of consent around the room, and everyone slowly filed out. April was the last to leave.

"It'll be okay, Aubrey. They're good guys."

"Thanks, April..." She smiled as the redhead left.

As soon as she was alone, she leaned back into the arm of the couch, staring wide-eyed at the stone ceiling.

_Indefinitely..._

* * *

**Author's Note:**

Good gracious, it feels like it's been a century since I updated this story. This was a difficult chapter to get out, since it was mostly introduction and establishing initial character interactions. But it was necessary to get the plot ball rolling!

I've noticed that, upon re-reading my chapters, there are a lot of spelling and grammar errors that I missed in the first edit. Your mind really just fills in the blanks when you review your own work. It also doesn't help that I write nearly everything at 2 in the morning. So if you see any mistakes, please let me know, either in a review of the chapter, or in a private message. Having a regular beta-reader really isn't very practical, so I'm hoping small group efforts will be more effective.

For those of you who stuck with this story and sent me follow-up reviews, thank you! I love chatting with you, and it inspires me to trudge through writers' block and get my crap together! Keep an eye out for the next installment!

xoxo,

Spindrifter


	5. Moment

Leo watched the dust motes dance in the bars of light as they filtered through the balusters. Living in a room on the second floor had its perks - distance from the little brother who snored like a freight train, tactical advantage when diving for the last slice of pizza, and not being kept awake by Raph's thundering footsteps when he paced at night. But this was one of his secret favorites.

When he couldn't sleep, Leo liked to crack his door open and let the glow that pierced the walkway railing seep into his room. It laid bars of black and pale blue across his ceiling. They melted down his wall into a puddle of light and shadow on the floor. And the dust would tilt and swirl like the sparkles that clouded his vision when he got the wind knocked out of him during a sparring match.

Tonight, though, the particles failed to lend the peace to his racing thoughts that they normally did. He swiped his hand through the air, agitating their lazy circles until they spun like a storm of glitter in the dark.

He didn't like this girl. He couldn't say for certain why, but there was something about her that seemed... _off_. No one they had ever met was just okay with the fact that there were four walking, talking, giant turtles running around in the sewers playing ninja. Even if two of their own had just saved her life.

Even April was proof of that. She'd run screaming away more than once when they'd first met. And honestly, if it hadn't been for Donatello's infatuation with her, they probably would have just let her run. They'd had no clue about the Kraang, or any other incarnation of enemy that would follow in the nearly 10 years after their meeting.

And without fail, it always seemed to be Donatello bringing these women, these _humans_, into their midst; exposing them and their secrets with little thought of the consequences. Maybe it was his curious nature. Maybe subconsciously, he needed to know about the one thing that would forever be forbidden to them. For being so aggravatingly intelligent, his younger brother couldn't seem to wrap his head around the fact that they had to keep all of these humans at a distance. If not for the sake of their secrecy as ninjas, then for the safety of the people themselves.

Leonardo sighed, sending the dust into a dizzying spin. With the number of enemies at their door building on a near-daily basis, it was much too dangerous to invite any more innocent people into their lives. Secrecy wasn't such a big deal anymore. The turtles had become something of an urban legend. People would claim to have seen "flying lizard men" and "warrior reptiles" whether or not they'd actually been present. They even made a little side money by letting April submit blurry, out-of-focus shots of them to tabloids. Every now and then, Michelangelo would ghost-write an exposé column called "Monsters in Manhattan."

But this, bringing people into the lair, getting caught on camera... Whether or not Donatello was able to destroy all the evidence, it never should have been made in the first place! It was too risky, too far exposed. And Raph, deliberately giving a normal human mutagen. No matter how noble the cause, it only reinforced that neither of them had given any thought to the long-term possibilities of their actions.

And now they were stuck babysitting this girl until Doctor Donnie decided she was "all better." Leo had to admit that he was surprised when Master Splinter had nearly ordered them to err on the side of caution by keeping her in the sewers to watch her. It would have been easy enough to take her home and put some regular surveillance on her until they decided she was in the clear.

So what was Master Splinter thinking?

He didn't like it. He didn't like it one bit. There was just something about that girl - Aubrey was her name - that rubbed him the wrong way. And Leo had never been misled by his gut feelings before. Many times, in the heat of battle, it had been the difference between life and a knife through the eye. He'd come to rely on his feelings to warn him away from danger.

And danger seemed to coat Aubrey like a second skin.

No, Leonardo didn't like her being there. He didn't like _her_ at all.

* * *

"Excuse me?"

Breakfast had been silent and tense. Leonardo had already dismissed himself to "the dojo," wherever that was. Raph had been stabbing his eggs with a focused vehemence that made Aubrey wonder if there was a chicken who slighted him in another life. Donatello was markedly absent.

Only Mikey seemed normal, humming loudly to himself as he brought another plate with toast and bacon, and a decanter of orange juice to the table.

"What's up, sweetcheeks?"

_Sweetcheeks? Wasn't baby cakes enough?_

Aubrey shook her head slightly. "Ah... if I'm going to stay down here with you, there are some things I need from my apartment." Splinter turned his whiskered nose toward her and considered for a moment.

"If you make a list of the possessions you wish to have, one of my sons can retrieve them for you tonight."

Aubrey shifted nervously.

"A-actually, I'd like to retrieve them myself, if that's okay." Raph was staring her down as if she were a new plate of eggs to be destroyed. Mike's expression had turned wary.

"You're not gonna go running off on us, are ya?" he queried.

Aubrey grimaced and put her hands up in an attempt to dispel the suspicion in the air. "No, no. It would be rather ungracious to just disappear after ya'll've done so much for me. It's just that some of the things that I need are of a more..." she hedged, "ah... personal... nature."

She must've hit the word jackpot because all three males at the table looked away suddenly and Aubrey could have sworn she saw a dark green splotch rush across Raph's cheeks. He set his fork down on the table with a clatter and Aubrey was surprised to see that the tines weren't bent. Shoving away from the table, he stomped off, one broad finger looped through the handle of a coffee cup.

Michelangelo chuckled, and rubbed the back of his head with one hand. "Sorry, babe. We're just trying to be careful, ya know?"

A small smile quirked at the corner of her mouth. "I understand, Mikey. No offense taken."

He huffed a sigh and grinned again, shooting her a conspiratorial wink. "I'll take you up tonight," he offered. "It's not every day that I get the chance to get sleeping beauty all to myself."

"Exercise caution, my son," Splinter warned. "It was only yesterday that the Foot attacked your brothers out in the open. If they know that Aubrey is with us, they may be searching for her as well."

An uncomfortable knot settled in her stomach. Aubrey managed a small, grim smirk. "Let's hope not."

Master Splinter only hummed in response, folding narrow, clawed hands around the mug of steaming tea.

* * *

Just before noon, Donatello called Aubrey into his lab. He'd be lying if he hadn't enjoyed the moment of surprise that flitted across her face. In his 23 years, it hadn't been very often that he could impress anyone, nevertheless a girl. This was his little world - the place where he made discoveries, created the things that made the mutant family's life a little easier, and kept vigil over activity on the surface.

Donnie watched for a moment as Aubrey's eyes roved over everything in mute fascination. Truth be told, it was a room filled with a miscellaneous assortment of broken computer parts and the bits and bobs they'd been able to salvage from trash bins outside automotive shops, tech stores, and research labs. But everything had been meticulously restored to some semblance of working order; had been given new purpose. He took great pride in it.

He cleared his throat, interrupting her examination. She jumped, as if startled by the sudden noise.

"Through there, if you would please," he gestured to a broad white blanket that acted as a divider and privacy screen for the medical center. It hadn't taken long for the turtles to figure out that they would need some dedicated place to fix the damage done by their enemies, or through their own carelessness. The Medicenter was the result of years of careful collection and research. And where Master Splinter was in charge of all treatment of emotional or spiritual wounds, Donnie had reign over allopathic medicine.

Given, it had come back to bite them in the scutes a time or two. Like when they'd learned that Mikey was allergic to ivermectin. Don shuddered. After that, he'd taken extra precautions to know the major drugs that could be used on reptiles in veterinary medicine.

"What's going on?" There was the barest hint of skepticism in her voice as she eyed the makeshift curtain.

"I need to check your wounds to make sure there's no infection forming beneath the bandages," he replied. Now that he looked closer, he could see the faint brown staining of old blood seeping through. "It wouldn't be a bad idea to change them all together, anyway."

"Hmm..." she hummed and, not for the first time, Donatello drew a line of comparison between her and Master Splinter. "You're probably right," she finally conceded. "They're starting to itch like the devil anyway. But is there anyway April can help me?"

Donatello stared at her for a full five seconds, completely uncomprehending her request before she filled in.

"You know... giant talkin' turtle or not, you're still a guy. And last I checked, my shirt was missing..." She avoided his eyes at the end, a tinge of blush suffusing her cheeks.

Donnie could feel his own face darken in embarrassment.

_So much for being the smart brother..._ he thought sarcastically.

"Ehh... heh heh..." he chuckled nervously, rubbing the back of his head with one broad hand. "Well April probably won't be coming back until tomorrow and we really shouldn't wait to check your injuries..." He cast his eyes around the room.

"Do you have anything I could at least cover up with?" She was looking at him now and, if he wasn't mistaken, there was an amused twinkle in her eye. Maybe it was just the light from the computer screens...

"Uh... maybe Casey left a t-shirt somewhere?" He spun around to dig through the toolbox that stood against the wall next to the door. After a few seconds shuffling things around, he found an old, worn Hooters shirt. It had a few oil stains on it and looked like it had been repurposed as a tool rag.

Donnie offered it to Aubrey with a grimace. "Sorry, it's the best we've got. We don't really wear normal clothes around here."

Aubrey chuckled and shook her head. "Nah, it's fine. I've borrowed worse from my brother before. Derrick was our resident grease monkey. If you couldn't find him under the car or tractor, it was because he was at The Yard, buying parts."

Don cracked an awkward smile as she slipped her head and left arm through the holes, letting the shirt drape over her injured shoulder. "Sounds like an interesting guy."

"He was," she laughed almost wistfully. "Couldn't fix anything worth a damn, but he sure liked to tinker..."

Donatello shuffled his feet uncomfortably, knowing full well what the past-tense verbs meant. "I'm sorry," he mumbled.

He was nearly startled out of his shell when she started laughing. "Oh Lord, Donatello, whatever for?"

"I-I didn't mean to bring up -"

"What, Derrick? He'd probably be pleased as punch that I have anything nice to say about him s'much as he teased me." She turned suddenly. "And he'd love this place. Did you build it all yourself?"

Don knew a change in subject when he heard one, and was relieved for it.

She shot him an expectant glance from the corner of her eye and he realized that he'd spaced again.

"Y-yeah!" he chirped, almost too brightly. "We can't exactly walk into the closest tech store and ask for a desktop, so we made do with what we could find in junkyard and recycling facilities. Basically if it's down here, it's mechanical, and it works, it probably passed through my hands first."

He was babbling and he knew it but that glimmer of mild amazement had returned to her eye and he thought that maybe he could give himself this one time where he talked himself up a little.

She was looking at the things on his desk - mostly a pile of disconnected wires and pieces of circuit boards. But her gaze had lingered on a small, palm-sized dome in the shape of a turtle shell. A dim red light blinked at one end.

"What's that?"

Don grinned. As one of his first successful inventions, he was particularly proud of this one.

"That is a T-phone, or a Shellphone, depending on who you ask." She nearly had her face to the desk trying to examine it from all angles.

"You know, you can pick it up."

The look on her face was like someone had told a small child they could have a double scoop, chocolate-dipped ice cream cone even though they were grounded. For the first time in years, Donnie felt the urge to giggle at something besides finding a like-new motherboard in a trash heap.

Aubrey's fingers ghosted over the surface of the phone and she looked up at him guiltily.

"Are you sure? Me and technology have this long-standing disagreement over our mutual existence. It's only by luck that I've been the survivor so far."

"Pffft -" Donatello sputtered. Cheeks puffed, shoulders shaking. He'd tried so hard not to laugh but the way she'd said it was so _blasé_, so nonchalant... Another bout of laughter hit him light a Mack truck and he doubled over.

Aubrey looked like she didn't know whether to be pleased or offended.

"Oh come on, it wasn't _that_ funny, Donatello" she huffed, folding her arms over her chest.

He regained himself after a moment. "You know," he sighed as he wiped an errant tear from his cheek. "You don't have to always call me 'Donatello.'"

"Yeah? Would you prefer Super-genius-turtle-extraordinaire?" Aubrey had hunched her shoulders over and begun wiggling her fingers together like a cartoon mad scientist. "Or perhaps Master-of-technical-ingenuity?"

Donatello leaned back and tapped his chin thoughtfully. "I like that last one, actually. You and Michelangelo should have a chat about changing my nickname."

"Oh yeah?" She cocked and eyebrow. "And what _is_ your nickname?"

_Like hell am I going to tell her that Mikey calls me 'Dorkatello.'_

He grimaced. "'Donnie' is fine. The only person who consistently calls me 'Donatello' is Master Splinter." He shook his head. "Come on, let's get you checked out already."

* * *

They'd been able to get the outermost layers of gauze removed fairly easily, but the blood had dried on the lower layers and stuck to the skin. Any awkwardness had quickly dissipated with his concentration and her physical discomfort.

"Alright, stay still. I don't want to accidentally pull the bandages and have you bleeding again."

Aubrey nodded, her mouth set in a grim line. "Don't have to tell me twice."

She knew Donnie was probably trying to be gentle, but the scissors weren't as sharp as they could have been and every catch felt like she was back in ninth grade, when Mary Blanchard convinced her to use duct tape as body wax. Every little fair hair along her rib cage was being pulled in clusters. She could feel the swelling start all around the edges of the bandage and began to dread having to do this every day for the next few weeks. Bullet wounds didn't heal very quickly. She may be changing bandages for _months_! Aubrey shuddered.

Don paused in his ministrations. "Does it hurt that much?"

"No-no," she soothed. "How long did you say we have to keep doing this?"

"At least until it's healed all the way through. You may still need pressure bandages afterwards for your ribs and scapula - they were pretty cracked up last I checked."

Aubrey made a face.

Donatello frowned. "It's caked on pretty well. We're going to have to soak it off to avoid reopening anything." With a groan of mattress springs, he lifted himself from the twin bed that served as their treatment table. He reappeared a few seconds later carrying a shallow steel bowl and a white rag. The bowl was filled with water.

After settling down again, Donnie began soaking the cloth. But before he could place it against the blood-congealed gauze, Aubrey stopped him.

"Not to seem rude, but that's not sewer water, is it?" Aubrey hadn't been too terribly surprised when she learned that the turtles' hideout was in the sewers of the city. She could hear the faint rush of cars overhead and the air had a cool, humid quality to it that whispered of the underground.

But it had given her a healthy paranoia of where their water came from. Mutagen or not, she didn't think she'd be able to take on an infection caused by exposure to untreated waste water.

Donatello gave her a small, reassuring smile.

"We learned a long time ago that fresh water is a precious commodity down here. The filtration system is top-notch, and I flush it on a regular basis, promise."

"I'll hold you to that. If you think I'mma pain right now, you just wait until I've contracted some crazy super bug." She twisted her face into a scowl that she knew could only be comical. "I'll become your worst nightmare." Her brother's voice rang in her ears.

_"I've seen wet kittens scarier than you..."_

Apparently Donatello agreed.

"Trust me, after dealing with Raph's broken leg, treating a sick, pretty girl would be a daydream."

Aubrey stiffened and Donatello fumbled the rag. It landed in a wet _splat_ on the bed.

"Not that you're pretty. Ah! No wait, I-I just meant -"

"Oooooh! Young love..."

"Michelangelo!"

The youngest of the brothers had been peeking around the edge of the curtain. It was drawn up to his chin, as he gazed dreamily at the ceiling. He released a lofty sigh and Aubrey giggled. She imagined that if he'd had eyelashes, that they would have been fluttering. Instead, he narrowly dodged a metal pan to the face.

"Whoah, bro!"

It hit the floor with a raucous clatter, the sound echoing in the confined stone space. Mike popped his head back in, winked at Aubrey, and took off like a bat out of hell. Donnie was close on his heels.

_Where did he get that staff from?_

She just shook her head and snickered, carefully pulling the oil-stained shirt over her shoulder. It was still pretty tender but nowhere near the level it had been the night before. There was a shriek and a cacophony of unintelligible shouts. Aubrey ambled out, unable to resist the urge to investigate.

Raph was perched on the back of the couch, whooping loudly as his brothers tussled on the floor. Leo stared down from the second floor, shaking his head is disapproval.

"Whatchya got, Brainiac? You can't tooouuuch this!" Michelangelo backflipped over the coffee table, landing neatly between the couch and the dining table. He had a small remote in his hand and with a quick click of the button, M.C. Hammer was blaring through unseen speakers.

Mikey strutted back and forth, bobbing his head and mouthing the lyrics as Donatello dove at him again. Aubrey sidled up next to Raph and leaned against the cardboard cushions.

"They do this a lot?"

Raph's grin was almost manic. "Nah... not as often as they used to. Donnie's kind of a spoil-sport when it comes to the antics of Dr. Prankenstein." He waved his hand in the direction of Donatello, who had managed to knock Mikey off his feet with a swipe of his staff. Raph finally glanced at her from the corner of his eye.

"Are you wearing Casey's shirt?"

Aubrey glanced down at herself. The shirt was actually a pretty decent fit, given that it was worn soft and covered in grime.

"Yeah - Donnie found it for me. Is Casey his girlfriend or something?" There was a crash. When she looked back up, Raph looked like he was going to choke. She must have missed something good.

"Something like that, sure..." He chortled to himself. There was a wicked glint to his eye that made Aubrey itch to scoot away.

Suddenly, the music clicked off and a voice boomed out across the room.

"What is going on here?"

The two squabbling on the floor jerked straight to their feet, arms tucked formally behind their shells.

"Nothing, Master Splinter," Donnie murmured.

"We were just blowin' off a little steam." Mikey's grin was cheeky.

Splinter just grunted before leveling his gaze directly on the purple-banded son.

"Donatello, have you finished treating Miss LaRille's injuries?"

"N-not yet, Master Splinter."

"Perhaps you should finish the tasks set before you, before you begin horse play with your brother."

The younger brother snickered.

"Michelangelo!" The prankster sobered immediately.

"You should not bother your brother when he is tending to our guest. Your interference could extend the time of her recovery."

He ducked his head and grinned sheepishly at her from across the room. "Sorry, Aub..."

She waved the apology away. "It's fine. The bandages are stuck anyway, so I have to soak them off. You wouldn't happen to have a shower, would you?"

Splinter's nose twitched and he nodded. "We do. Donatello, you will show our guest to the restroom. Michelangelo, you must prepare to take Miss LaRille to the surface tonight. I sense trouble in the wind. Be on your guard."

Both boys bowed and spoke in unison.

"Hai, Sensei!"

* * *

Aubrey couldn't even begin to express her joy when she saw they had a toilet. She'd had to pee since she woke up the first time and it had only been an extreme force of will that had prevented her from reenacting her five-year-old potty dance.

"Now the temperature knob is a little touchy. It gets hot fast, so watch it when you step in." Donnie was leaned over the wide basin, twisting the knobs back and forth, trying to adjust the heat and pressure.

It was the largest tub Aubrey had ever seen, more like a small pool. The sides came up well above her waist, and she wasn't exactly a short girl. Fortunately, there was a small swinging door in the side. At least she wouldn't have to try to heft herself up onto the edge with a bum arm.

"Soap is on the side. Towels are under the sink. Be extra careful with your side. If you need anything, let us know." Without further ado, Donatello was gone and Aubrey was left to the slowly rising steam and the rubber ducky shower curtain.

She carefully pulled the work shirt over her head; her messy braid flopping against her back with a soft _thunk_. Despite the heat emanating from the shower, the air in the large room was still chilly. She wiggled out of her work slacks, only just noticing the rust brown splatters down the side and butt. She shuddered.

Aubrey didn't need the reminder that she'd lain in a pool of her own blood.

The moment of relief as she finally settled on the toilet was exquisite. She couldn't help but wonder, though -

_If they live in the sewer, where does it go when they flush?_

As she flushed, she wondered at the odd turn of her thoughts as she stepped into the shower. Despite Donatello's warnings, the water was pleasantly warm, if not just a little too cool for her liking. But the feeling as the clean water washed over her skin was like a baptism. The longer she stood there, the more she felt the stresses of the last 24 hours drain away.

Slowly, she began to unwind the disheveled braid, the curls slipping across each other as the locks came untangled. Aubrey ran her fingers through the knots, from tip to root, until her hair fell in a heavy, dark fall over her shoulder and across her breasts.

The matted wad of fabric at her side grew heavy. She sat down in the middle of the gigantic washbasin and began to peel away the layers. Every strip of fabric sent a spiral of old blood swirling down the drain. The color was almost startling against the pristine white porcelain and the paleness of her own skin.

Ever so slowly, her chest was revealed in strips. Dark bruises marred her ribs like distorted hand prints, radiating out from the bullet wounds. The wounds themselves were thickly clotted with blood. Aubrey swiped at them gently with the washcloth. But after a few minutes, the cloth dragged against solid skin.

She froze and stared down at her shoulder and chest. She could clearly see the marks - dark sunbursts on her pallid skin. But that was all they were - scars and bruises. It was as if months had passed. Not trusting her eyes, she lifted her arm experimentally. There was no crackle of broken bone in her shoulder blade, no painful shift of jagged ribs in her chest. A sudden sense of constriction bound her throat.

Aubrey shut the water off and nearly slipped in her haste to get out of the tub. She left the pile of bloody rags where they were as she scrambled for a towel. Without thinking, she threw the bathroom door open, leaving a trail of water as she bolted toward the lab.

"Donnie!"

He spun in his chair as she shoved the heavy door open. She nearly dropped her towel in the process.

"Donnie, I need you to look at this!"

He was unnerved by her frantic demeanor and jerked like he'd been shocked when she grabbed his shoulder.

"What? What's the emergency?"

"Look at this!" She jerked the right side of her towel down to show him her wounds. Never-you-mind that she also showed him most of the side of her right breast in the process. She was a little too panicked to worry about the social acceptability of nearly flashing a turtle.

He, however, let out a little "eep" and spun away.

"W-what are you doing?" he demanded.

"Trying to show you my bullet holes, which aren't really bullet holes anymore because they're almost completely healed, if you would stop acting weird about it!" She was shouting at him, she knew, but she couldn't seem to bring her panic or her volume down enough to care.

"What?" Don glanced back over his shoulder at her, as if not believing his ears. He turned on her so quick, she barely saw the movement. He grabbed her by the shoulder and nearly pushed her behind the Medicenter curtain.

Suddenly, he took a step back and put his hands up, as if only realizing that she was half-naked and still soaking wet. He gestured to her side.

"May I?"

Aubrey lifted her arm in response, letting the towel droop down to expose the remainder of the bullet holes. All that was left were the pinkish-brown scars of old wounds, stretched out across her skin like poorly-inked tattoos. He ran one broad finger across the lowest scar, from front to back, tracing the bruise. He repeated the motion with each blemish, the calloused pad of his fingertip leaving a trail of cool fire in its wake.

Suddenly he stood, face serious. "Wait here," he commanded and moved past the privacy screen.

She could hear Leo's voice from the door.

"Everything okay in here? We heard shouting from the dojo."

There was a mumbled response, then Leo spoke again.

"I'll let him know..."

Another second and Donatello was before her again. This time, he wore a set of thick, layered goggles with green lenses. Some electronic pack beeped and whirred at his hip.

"Sit on the bed and lift your arm again, please."

She complied without complaint. He sat down next to her, the bed sinking with his weight as it had before. He gently lifted and turned her arm, eyes trained on her back and shoulder. His head turned toward her ribcage.

Donnie peered down at her side while fiddling with a switch on the humming box of lights. He murmured and "oh"-ed for a few minutes, brow creasing as he went.

The initial wave of anxiety was beginning to ebb. Aubrey found the noises and thorough process of the examination oddly soothing, despite its strangeness.

When he finally clicked off his box and flipped the goggles up onto his head, he stared at her with a frown.

"This doesn't make any sense," he muttered, dropping his face into his palm. She watched as he massaged his eyes with his forefinger and thumb.

Aubrey tucked the drooping edge of her towel snugly under her arm.

"What doesn't?" Her nervousness returned as he shook his head slowly.

"Aubrey, I don't know how else to tell you this, but you're almost completely healed."

She brightened considerably. "Well, that's good isn't it? You said the mutagen would speed things up..."

He sighed and looked at her again. "Well that's just the thing. The mutagen speeds things up, sure. But we're," he gestured to himself as he spoke, "full mutants, and even we don't heal as fast as you have." Aubrey didn't think it was possible for his frown to be any deeper. "It should have taken you weeks, at least to get to this point, not hours or a day."

"So... what does that mean for me?"

Donnie was shaking his head again. "I honestly don't know. We need to run some tests. It could be that your body is just passing the mutagen a lot more quickly than we expected. If that's the case, you can go home sooner." He exhaled almost forcefully and pinched the bridge of his nose again.

She was almost afraid to ask. "And if that's not the case?"

He almost appeared to regret the words as he watched her from behind his mask. "We'll have to keep you here and run some tests. We'll need to make sure there are no... side effects of your exposure."

Feeling abruptly self-conscious, she pulled the towel tighter, covering herself as much as she could. Donatello was close enough to feel the gusts of his breath across her damp skin. And she was acutely aware of both his proximity and her relative nudity. The room felt colder than it had a few minutes before.

"What kind of tests?"

Donnie leaned back and placed his fists on his thighs as he looked at her. There was a critical sheen to his eye as he spoke. "We'll at least need to draw blood, so we can monitor the levels of mutagen present in your system. But with the facilities we have here, most of our "tests" simply involve watching you for signs and symptoms that we've seen before, so you don't need to worry. We're not going to play mad scientist with you."

Aubrey could feel the tension uncoil from her spine. Her shoulders sagged in relief.

"Good. You had me worried there for a hot second," she chuckled edgily. "The last thing I want is so become some kind of experiment..."

Donatello suddenly tensed and opened his mouth to say something. He was interrupted by a soft knock against the stone, and Master Splinter entered the curtained room. His brows raised when he saw her.

"It appears that you have surprised us yet again, Miss LaRille. Since you will be staying with us for a while, please allow me to show you to one of our guest rooms. I believe April left behind some clothes that you may borrow if yours have been ruined."

Aubrey felt her face flush.

_Apparently all semblance of shame disappears when I freak out..._ she mused.

"Donatello," he continued. "You and I will speak momentarily." Donnie merely nodded in response, already slipping into his thoughts. Master Splinter turned on his toes and padded silently from the room

Aubrey shuffled awkwardly off the bed to follow. She cast one last glance over her shoulder as the curtain swung closed.

She could still feel the lines of fire across her ribs where he'd touched her.


	6. Tempest Rising

Aubrey didn't know which was worse - that she had to ride on the back of an oversized red slider...

Or that she had to do it pantsless.

The leather strap under her butt tightened to a pinch as Michelangelo landed on the next rooftop.

_Nope... it's definitely the lack of pants._

The early Autumn chill bit into the skin of her exposed legs, but she wouldn't complain. The piercing cold was the only thing keeping the nausea at bay. Aubrey didn't exactly like heights, and flying through the canopy of the city with nothing but a two-inch strip of leather and a hyperactive ninja between her and the ground was less than ideal.

_Why did April have to be so small? Seriously, were those jeans left over from middle school?_

Michelangelo hit another roof, sending a jolt through her knees as they collided with his shell. Her shoulder was already aching from trying to cling to the bony ridge, and she thanked the stars that the mutagen had her mostly healed. As it was, she was definitely going to have some bruises tomorrow.

"Sorry, babe," he called back over his shoulder. "We're almost there, though."

When they finally landed on the fire escape outside her window, Aubrey was barely able to stand. Her legs shook and her knees were swollen to the size of softballs. She leaned heavily against the iron railing as Mikey went to pick the lock on her window.

"Uhh... hey Aub?"

"Yeah, Mikey?" She groaned as she stretched her leg out through the heel.

"You sure you didn't leave this unlocked?"

Aubrey frowned as Michelangelo cast a worried glance over his shoulder. "No, I haven't unlocked it since I moved in. I was paranoid that I'd forget and leave it open."

"Uh oh..." With a gentle nudge, he pushed on the glass and the window swung inward on its hinges. The apartment was completely dark beyond.

_But I always leave the hall light on..._ she thought. There was the barest sense of awareness creeping up her spine like a spider up a string. She moved past Mikey and slipped into the dark apartment.

"Whoah, babe! Hold up. You don't know what could be in there."

Aubrey didn't stop. The shadows of her home were all displaced. There was a hulking mound against her door, and the dim glitter of shattered glass dusted the carpet. When she reached the hall, she flipped on the light, but it sputtered and failed. Its orange glow had filled the living room long enough to know that it had been destroyed.

Mikey was suddenly at her side, on his T-phone.

"Aubrey's apartment has been hit. We're going to get what she needs and get out." A pause. "Got it."

He turned and looked at her with an expression more serious than she thought he was capable of. Michelangelo looked almost... dangerous in the dark.

"You have ten minutes. Get what you need, and only what you can carry. We won't be coming back."

Aubrey nodded and turned down the hall, briskly stepping past a fallen painting of mountains. There were long, jagged gashes in the plaster, as if someone had drug a blade down either side. They traced the path to her bedroom door, which was barely hanging on its bottom hinge.

There was a sick feeling welling up in her chest. She could see them in her mind's eye, tearing the picture frames from the walls, ripping the drawers from the chests. The bed had been overturned and the mattress sliced from end-to-end. The delicate arrangement of white poppies on her desk had been smashed to pulp and slivers of blue glass. The brunette snatched a soft-sided satchel from the corner and, after grabbing her overturned laptop from the floor, began shoving clothes into it.

_Just a couple shirts, some underwear, ah!_

With a wide grin, she shimmied into a pair of jeans and pulled a belt through the loops. She slipped her feet into a pair of Sperry knock-offs that had been tucked under her heavy wooden dresser, and threw a pair of tennis shoes into her bag.

"Five minutes," Mikey called from his position in the hall.

"Got it!" Hazel eyes drifted to the handle of bathroom door. It adjoined the bedroom, so Aubrey often left it standing open. Living alone in a one-bedroom flat, she didn't think anyone was going to see if she left her panties on the floor. It was pulled closed now and, unlike her bedroom door, seemed almost untouched. Her hand closed around the lever handle, tracing her fingers over the gaudy scrollwork. A shock like electricity jolted through her hand. A muted feeling of foreboding filled her brain with hot fog.

As if moving on auto-pilot, she pressed down on the handle and the door swung open. Her stomach churned with noxious heat as she looked around. Her bathroom looked pristine. A baby blue hair dryer lay coiled up on the corner of her counter, against the mirror. A plastic organizer, covered in rainbow-glittered Mod Podge, sat quiet and undisturbed to the left of the sink. Purple towels, stacked high in a brown wicker bin, held their place on the back of the toilet. Everything was exactly as she had left it, except...

"Oh no," she whispered, the fear pulsing through her with every heartbeat. The glass door on the medicine cabinet had been cracked, a deep green line running across the lower right corner. If it hadn't been for the glue backing, the glass likely would have separated and shattered on the floor. Cautiously, she reached forward and pulled it open.

It was empty.

_Gone. Gone... It's gone!_ she thought, mind racing.

Her heartbeat thrummed in her throat like the beating of a hummingbird's wing. A small square of paper was taped to the inside of the cabinet door. Snatching it down, she read it under her breath.

_"You will come to us, or we will find you._

_Either way, you know what happens next, Miss LaRille."_

"It can't be," she whispered, nearly dropping the note in her quaking fingers.

"Aubrey, we're out of..." Mikey appeared behind her, laying a three-fingered hand on her shoulder. He stopped mid-sentence when he felt her body shaking like a leaf in a hurricane. "Hey, babe, what's wrong? I mean, besides the fact that your apartment got trashed."

She jerked away from Michelangelo like she'd been burned, crouching down to wrench the door from the cabinets beneath the sink. Aubrey went through them almost manically, flipping over baskets and gutting their contents onto the floor. Finally, she pulled a slim amber bottle from the back and stood, holding it to her chest like her life depended on it.

"What's that?" Michelangelo pointed to the little vial in her hands. It was unmarked and through the clear plastic, he could see two round tablets.

Aubrey jumped when he spoke, her nerves firing like gunshots under her skin. "It's m-my medicine," she answered. Her hazel eyes were wild when she looked at him. "They took the rest. This was my emergency stash, in case I ran out unexpectedly."

Mikey only gave her a sidelong look. Needless to say, having grown up in a mostly holistic household, he was a little suspicious of modern medicine. It didn't help that his first encounter with an anti-parasitic as a teenager had nearly killed him.

"Alright, ya got everything then, babe? We need to bounce, and like two minutes ago." He gestured over the bony ridge of his shoulder with one broad thumb.

The brunette merely shook her head in the affirmative. Within a matter of seconds, they were gone from the apartment. Aubrey glanced back over her shoulder only once. The dimly lit windows of her flat, surrounded as they were by the dark metal fire escape, looked like the glowing eyes of an animal pressed against its cage. Another shiver of fear coursed across her skin, and she was glad to turn away from the sight.

But the feeling of being watched never left her.

* * *

"And no one followed you home?" Leonardo's voice filtered through the thin sheet that served as her bedroom door. A few wayward beams of light pierced the veil where moths had eaten through. They made no attempts to hide their conversation.

She and Mikey waited until the early hours of the morning, when Leonardo, Raphael and Donatello returned from the night's patrol. Apparently, they'd made a pit-stop by her address and found the high-rise in the same condition that they'd left it in. The brothers were standing in the living room. Her new bedroom, a revamped storage closet that smelled slightly of machine oil and old fabric, lay in the crevice of a wall between the den and the kitchen.

"Positive, bro. Even with the extra load, you think I'd let myself get caught?" Mikey's voice was all playful disbelief, and Aubrey wondered where the stone-faced mutant from her apartment had disappeared to.

"We just want to make sure, Mikey." If 'disgruntled' had a sound, she was sure it was Leonardo's voice.

_They ought to make a dictionary of sounds,_ she thought idly. _He could take up the spaces for 'disgruntled,' 'frazzled,' and 'peevish' all at once._ Aubrey's mouth twitched in a smile.

The eldest brother was speaking again. "Was there anything unusual about the apartment?"

"Be_sides_ the fact that it was totaled?" Sarcasm dripped from every word, but he paused to think. "Well... She did panic when she found out they had taken her medicine. But it's okay, she had some hidden under the sink. Other than that, she was just staring down at some paper when I walked in."

"Medicine? Like a prescription?" Donnie piped up curiously. "Who would trash an apartment and take medicine?" She could practically hear the gears turning in his head, though it seemed obvious to her.

"Probably just some low-life cretin," Leo responded dismissively. "This doesn't seem like anything more than a common burglary."

She could hear the straps of Mikey's mask hit the side of his head as he gestured a hard negative. "I dunno, guys. She had a T.V. in there, and she brought a laptop back with her. What kinda robber would leave the stuff that's easy to turn over and take a bottle of pills?"

Aubrey peered through a break in the curtain and watched as Leo tapped his foot in thought. Donnie was the next to speak.

"Do you have any idea what the medicine was?"

"Uh-uh. The bottle didn't even have a label on it, bro."

Raph's growl was low and dissatisfied. "So what're you tryin' ta say, she's some kinda junkie, or somethin'?"

Apparently Leonardo concurred. "I don't know anyone else who would keep their prescriptions in an unmarked container. She _does_ work at a pharmacy, so it wouldn't exactly be difficult for her to -"

"Hold on, guys!" Michelangelo stepped into her line of vision. "Aubrey said it was an emergency bottle, in case she lost 'em or ran out or something. We can't just go assuming the worst about someone we don't even know."

"That's the point, genius," Raph snapped. "We don't _know_ her at all."

Aubrey felt sick. The longer she listened, the worse she became in their eyes. If things kept on at this pace, she'd be a wanted drug-dealer before the end of the next sentence. She turned her back to the wall, laying her head against the cool stone.

Leonardo sighed and rubbed his blue-masked face wearily. "So who do _you_ think broke in, Mike?"

"Well, duh!" She imagined Michelangelo waving his hands about like a drunken air traffic controller. "It's obviously the Foot! I mean, they're the ones who shot her -"

Raphael cut across his words like a knife. "There's no _proof_, Shell-for-Brains. Me an' Don were there. They were attackin' alotta people."

Mikey made a _tsk_ing sound between his teeth. "Yeah, but if they know we brought her here, then they might want her to spill about the lair."

Donatello gathered his voice. "I can't believe I'm saying this but..." He sucked in a deep breath, as if his next words pained him. "I'm going to have to agree with Mikey on this one."

A full five seconds of complete silence passed before anyone spoke. Aubrey could almost feel the smug aura around Michelangelo, seeping through the curtain.

"You _can't_ be serious." The incredulity in the voice of the blue-masked brother was palpable. There was a shuffle of feet against stone and the creak of worn leather.

"Well, y-yes, he has a point." Aubrey didn't envy the hard stare that Donnie was suffering if the tremor in his voice was any indication. He sighed. "Look, Raph and I were obviously seen with Aubrey, and possibly even tending to her. She disappeared from the scene immediately afterward, so it's a safe assumption that she may be under our protection - which she _is_."

There was a moment of silence, and Leonardo's next words lodged a cold shard of dread into her stomach.

"Then she's a liability we have to deal with."

_Deal with... how? They're not gonna -_ She resisted the urge to scoot back to the corner of her cot, as far away from the threatening humanoid reptile as possible.

Leo continued. "I mean, can we even trust her? For all we know, if we take our eyes off her for a second, she'd lead the press straight back down here."

"Look, Sensei already instructed us to keep an eye on her. I'm sure if we explain the situation to her -" Don was cut off again.

"Wha' you think she's gonna be any cheerier 'bout being trapped in the sewers with a buncha mutant _freaks_?" Raph's voice was harsh, demanding. "You seen da way she looks at us already. All sketched out, like we're gonna bite her head off or somethin'."

Despite herself, Aubrey felt the cold pit in her stomach turn hot faster than greased lightning. She ripped aside the curtain and came into the room like a tornado, startling all four brothers where they stood in their semicircle. The wild-eyed brunette strode up to Raphael and, before any of them could stop her, jabbed her finger into the indentation of his plastron.

"Don't you _dare_ try to pass off your insecurities on me - that dog won't hunt, my friend," Raph's irritation suddenly changed to a look of confusion as he met the eyes of his flabbergasted brothers. "I haven't given you so much as a wink that I think poorly of you, and here you are acting like I'd run from here to Memphis shoutin' your secrets."

Mikey's jaw hung slack as he watched the smaller woman unleash her rage on his hot-headed brother. But she suddenly whipped her eyes around at Leo and it was miracle he didn't stumble back with the force of her glare.

"And you!"

Leo leaned forward into the tempest, mouth set in a hard line, eyes glinting like polished steel. "What about me," he challenged.

"_You_ have been skulkin' around givin' me the stink eye since I got here. I didn't _ask_ to get shot. I didn't _ask_ to be brought underground." Leonardo opened his mouth to retort, but she broke in before he could get the first word out. "I get that ya'll've been runnin' all over Hell's half acre for me in the last twenty-four hours, and I am much obliged to you for your kindness. But if you think I'm about to go runnin' back to the surface when someone just tore my home to pieces, you don't know shit from sunshine."

"This isn't _kindness_," he snapped, stepping forward so they were chin-to-chest. "This is _duty_. We are honor-bound to help those who need us, whether or not it endangers our way of life."

"If I'm such a danger, then send me back home!"

If he'd been human, Leonardo's face would have been flushed with ill-contained fury. "That is _not_ an option. You'd be an even greater threat to us on the surface, where you can run off -"

Donatello tried to step in. "Hey, guys there's no reason for this to escalate like this." Both parties ignored him. Too focused were they on tearing each other down.

"Run off, where, Leonardo?" Her words were like acid, seeping into his skin. "To the press? They'd lock me up faster than a greased pig on Fair Day. Or maybe you meant to the Foot? Because apparently you think I have a _death wish!_"

They stared each other down. There was nearly a foot's difference in their height, so Leo towered over the woman. She didn't back down, but when she spoke again, it was in hard, even tones.

"In case you haven't noticed, I'm at your mercy down here. Looks like I got the short end of the stick, though, since you ain't got much mercy to give."

The fury had gone out of her, but her gaze was penetrating.

"_Mercy's_ got nothing to do with it . If we're going to trust you, we need to know if there's a reason people might be attacking you." Leonardo folded his arms across his chest, nearly brushing her chin against rough scales.

She gave him a sardonic smile. "Pray tell - what do you think I'm hiding from you?"

They were all surprised when Leo looked away first. "Let's start with the medication."

Aubrey clenched her jaw, resisting the urge to hit the overgrown terrapin across his smug face. She spun on her heel and with a _swish_, disappeared behind the curtain. The rattle and clatter of things being overturned followed shortly after.

Michelangelo turned to his brother in astonishment.

"Dude, what was that all about?"

Leo's tone was even as he stared at the repurposed blanket as if it might burst into flame. "There's something she's not telling us, and we need to find out what it is."

Donatello was skeptical to say the least. Sure he'd only been watching her for a few weeks, but Aubrey didn't seem the type to be keeping some world-shattering secret. But he wasn't about to admit to his voyeurism when it might send his brother straight over the edge. Instead, he opted for the safer route. "Don't you think you're going a little overboard, though?"

Before he could answer, Aubrey returned from her room, pill bottle tight in one fist. She chucked it at Leo, who caught it without blinking.

"Don't ask me what it's called. It's got some name with thirteen or fourteen syllables, and it's completely experimental. I've only been taking it for about two months."

The scientifically-minded brother strode forward, taking the bottle from Leo's hand. The older turtle was compliant, but his eyes never left the woman before him.

"Who is it made by," Donnie probed. He popped the white cap off of the container and tipped the pills out into his broad palm. They were no bigger than a few millimeters across, printed with an elegantly scripted 'P' on one side, and the numbers '250' on the other.

"Panacea Labs."

"Never heard of 'em," Raph's words were gruff, but not accusing.

Aubrey could feel her heart rate slowing as she watched Donnie tip the pills gently back into their amber vial and hand them back to her. She took them with a grateful nod.

She heaved a sigh and turned toward the red-banded brother. "They're a fairly new company - only been around for about five years or so, I reckon."

"What is it used for?" Leo was unyielding, and earned an ascerbic stare from the hazel-eyed spitfire for his attitude.

She avoided answering his question directly, just to irk him. "It's supposed to be related to topiramate."

_Let him stew on that one_, she thought sourly.

Donnie turned to her, eyes round and wide behind his thick lenses. "Seizure medication?"

She was only a little miffed that Donatello apparently knew everything under the sun, but she nodded before answering briskly. "Complex partial seizures, refractory and non-responsive to traditional therapies. Since I was four."

Leonardo felt his anger settle like a stone in his stomach.

"So," Mikey's voice was hesitant. "Are you gonna like, pass out and start shaking?" Aubrey raised an eyebrow. "I mean, what if you swallow your tongue, or something?"

She blessed him with a sincere smile. "Honey, that's just a myth. Partial seizures are more sensory than anything else."

"Oh," he looked relieved. "That's good, I think."

Donnie chimed in. "Yes, partial seizures tend to disinclude the loss of consciousness and shaking seen in typical epilepsy. More often than not, those who experience partial seizures will hear, feel, smell or see things that aren't actually there. If the seizures are complex, the afflicted may experience any combination of those, depending on the part of the brain affected."

Aubrey stared at him, slightly open-mouthed. "You're just a walkin', talkin' textbook ain't ya? Is there anything you _don't_ know?"

"Yeah," Raphael huffed, "When to shut up."

Donatello colored.

"Why didn't you tell us that you have a medical condition?" Leo's voice no longer held the harsh edge from before. He watched as her shoulders sank and for the first time since she'd woken up, he could really see the lines of exhaustion marring her face.

"I said that what I needed from home was of a personal nature." She looked down now, tugging at the loose tendrils of hair like a nervous child. "Shouldn't I be the one to decide whether or not to disclose my medical history?"

His mouth drew into a wide, thin line. "Have you forgotten that you have mutagen swirling around in your system? There's no telling how you might react to these chemicals now."

She heaved a lofty sigh before looking at him again. There was no acid in her expression. Just a weariness that seemed to seep through to her bones. The knot of regret grew tighter in Leo's stomach.

"You're probably right. My skin's already stitched itself back together unnaturally fast. Who's to say takin' a pill wouldn't send me into a tailspin?" She raised her shoulders and her palms to the ceiling. It was a surprisingly helpless gesture for someone who had, not twenty minutes prior, had been more wildcat than girl.

"But what am I supposed to do? I'm not supposed to just _stop_ taking it, but I don't know how it's going to react." Her fist tightened around the bottle until her knuckles turned white. "Not like it matters anyway. I've only got two left, and I'm already a day behind. I can't exactly go down to the Clinic to get more since I'm on house arrest." Her voice had turned bitter, and she kept her eyes trained on the ground.

A long moment passed before Leo exhaled noisily. He laid a hand on the young woman's shoulder, causing her to look up in surprise. He forced a small smile.

"What if we go get it for you?"

She stared at him, slack-jawed an uncomprehending. Aubrey didn't feel too bad about her response, however, when she caught the shocked expressions on the other turtles' faces from her periphery.

"Why would you do that?" The wide-eyed brunette didn't think he could blame her for her misgivings, though. Indeed, his face contorted into a twisted version of a smile.

"Consider it an apology," he dropped his hands to his sides. "For being a overly suspicious."

Aubrey resisted the startled laugh that buzzed in her chest. It barely escaped as a very unladylike snort. "I'm sure it's justified. Lord only know what ya'll have been through."

"You don't know the half of it, sistah," Raph interjected.

"But," and she paused to meet their gazes individually, "regardless of what ya'll've dealt with over the years, I'm no hard-hearted Yankee. And I'm certainly no delicate Southern belle. I'm willin' to do what it takes to make this work for as long as it needs to, and I'll not tolerate being treated like some snake-in-the-grass without good reason."

She turned fully to Leonardo, then, and extended her hand. He was slightly taken aback by her forwardness. He met her eyes, icy blue to deep green, and the corners of his mouth barely tugged up in a smirk.

"Truce?" he asked.

Her grin was cheeky. "Where I come from, we call it 'mendin' fences.'"

"Either way." He grasped her hand firmly, and they shook twice. Suddenly, the moment was broken as Mikey whooped and began dashing around the room, hands in the air.

"Yeaaaah! We're gonna be friends!"

* * *

**Author's Note:**

Alright, guys! Another week, another chapter! I'm going to start trying to get these in on a regular basis, now. I have a personal goal set to have this story completed before school starts up again, and to have the second installation of the series done before the end of the year. So keep an eye out for an update every Sunday! This chapter may have seemed a little less action-y, but keep it in mind! You've been given quite a bit of foreshadowing, whether or not you know it. *insert evil laughter here* I might have to re-categorize this story as suspense or drama and romance, rather than action. But it's about to get good. :3


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